Chapter 3
The vast dining hall felt cavernous and oppressive without the guests. The only sounds remaining were the ragged, shallow breaths of Leonie Voss and the distant hum of the mansion's massive generator. Leonie paced the length of the head table, her sculpted satin gown rustling aggressively against the floorboards. She cast venomous glances at Maisie, clearly searching for a scapegoat to bear the weight of Donovan's terrifying interrogation.
Maisie ignored the glare, dropping to one knee beside Eddie. She adjusted the collar of his formal dinner jacket, her softly oval face radiating a quiet, fierce comfort. “You are incredibly brave, Eddie,” she whispered, her fair, rosy cheeks pale but resolute.
“Is my dad going to be mad at me?” Eddie asked, his voice shaking.
“Your father is never going to be mad at you for telling the truth,” Maisie assured him, squeezing his small hand.
Donovan watched the exchange, a muscle in his sharp jaw ticking rhythmically. He turned his attention back to Leonie, his tattooed hands resting lightly on his hips, pushing back the tailored fabric of his dark three-piece suit.
“Shall we take a walk downstairs to put an end to this childish nightmare, Leonie?” Donovan asked, his voice devoid of all warmth.
Leonie froze, her eyes widening in absolute terror. “Downstairs? To the basement? Donovan, you cannot be serious! You are going to entertain this delusion? You are going to ruin your own birthday dinner over a ghost story?”
“Why do you hesitate if there is nothing but frozen meat waiting for us in the dark?” Donovan pressed, taking a slow, predatory step toward her. “Are you afraid of the cold, or are you afraid of what the ice might reveal?”
“I am insulted!” Leonie shrieked, her ornate bracelet clinking sharply against a champagne velvet chair as she gripped it for support. “I have given you everything for the last four months! I have cared for your son! I have warmed your bed! And you are going to march me into a cellar because of a lying maid and a confused child?”
“Did I ask for a recount of your domestic contributions, or did I ask you to walk to the basement?” Donovan replied, his deep voice dropping an octave, shaking the very air in the room.
Leonie let out a breathless sob, realizing that resistance was futile. The mafia boss had made his decision, and there was no force on earth that could stop him from verifying his son's claim.
Donovan turned his gaze to Maisie. “Will you carry my son and follow closely behind me, Maisie? Will you ensure he does not look if we find something unpleasant?”
“Yes, Mr. Pierce,” Maisie answered immediately. She scooped Eddie up into her arms, ignoring the weight. The fitted black fabric of her maid dress pulled taut, her white apron remaining perfectly crisp as she held the boy securely against her chest.
May you like
Donovan gestured toward the grand oak doors leading to the service hallways. “Shall we proceed, Leonie, or must I instruct my men to drag you down the stairs by your diamond earrings?”
Leonie’s face drained of all color. Shaking uncontrollably, she let go of the velvet chair and began the long, agonizing walk toward the shadows of the mansion's lower levels, fully aware that she was walking toward her own execution.
