Chapter 7
The question hung heavily in the freezing air, shifting the dynamics of the hallway from a domestic nightmare to a full-scale mafia treason. If Leonie had not acted alone, it meant someone within Donovan’s inner circle—someone with high-level security clearance and physical strength—had betrayed him.
Leonie’s breathing stopped completely. She stared at Donovan, her lips parted in sheer terror. She had assumed that confessing to the murder as a crime of passion would be the end of it. She hadn't anticipated his relentless, tactical mind dissecting the logistics of the crime.
“I... I dragged her,” Leonie stammered, her voice shaking uncontrollably. “I put her on a rug and I pulled her down the stairs myself! I didn't have any help, Donovan! I swear to God!”
Donovan stopped wiping his ring. He pocketed the handkerchief slowly, his expression devoid of all patience.
“Do you expect me to believe you dragged a hundred and thirty pounds of dead weight down fifty concrete steps without tearing a single muscle or leaving a single drop of blood on the brickwork?” Donovan asked. “Do you think I am a fool?”
“It was just me!” she shrieked, panic escalating. “If I tell you anything else, they will kill me! They will torture me, Donovan!”
“Are you under the illusion that you are currently surviving this encounter?” Donovan asked, leaning down slightly, bringing his face dangerously close to hers. “Do you truly believe a traitor’s threat is worse than the wrath of the husband standing in front of you?”
Leonie closed her eyes, fresh tears leaking down her pale cheeks. She was trapped between the mafia boss and the syndicate traitors who had helped her execute the coup. But looking into Donovan's pitch-black eyes, she realized death was inevitable. The only thing left to negotiate was the amount of pain she would endure before it happened.
“If I give you a name, will you make it quick?” Leonie whispered, her voice entirely broken. “Will you just shoot me and get it over with?”
“Am I in the business of granting favors to the woman who butchered my wife and traumatized my son?” Donovan asked, his voice a lethal hum. “Or are you going to give me the name simply because you have no other choice?”
Leonie swallowed hard, nodding slowly in absolute defeat. “It was Silas,” she confessed, her voice barely audible over the hum of the freezer. “Your underboss. He wanted to destabilize you. He told me if I got rid of Mara, you would rely on him to run the streets while you grieved. He carried her down here for me. He forged the airport security tapes.”
The name dropped like a bomb in the quiet corridor. Silas. Donovan’s right-hand man for over a decade. The betrayal ran so deep it threatened to tear the entire organization apart from the inside out.
Donovan straightened his posture, his powerful shoulders squared. He did not show shock, only a cold, calculating acceptance of the war that had just been ignited.
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He turned his head slowly, looking up the stairs toward the housemaid who had inadvertently uncovered the greatest treason in his syndicate's history.
“Maisie. Are you prepared to follow my next set of instructions without hesitation?” Donovan asked.
