Chapter 6
Elodie took a shallow, shuddering breath, her chest rising and falling rapidly beneath the cinched waist of her black maid dress. She held the repaired gold paper star tightly against her crisp white apron, a fragile shield against the terrifying power dynamics swirling around the banquet table.
She lifted her chin, her expressive eyes meeting Rafael’s dark, calculating gaze. She refused to look at Sabrina.
"Miles made this star for me," Elodie said.
Her voice was quiet, laced with a slight, unavoidable tremor, yet it carried an undeniable, devastating sincerity that cut straight through the opulent ballroom.
"He brought it to the kitchens this afternoon," Elodie continued, her American accent melodic and soft. "He was so proud of it. He called me... he called me Mommy."
Elodie paused, swallowing the lump forming in her throat as the memory of the heavy oak door slamming onto her hand flashed through her mind. The blinding agony, the sound of the paper tearing, the cold laughter of the woman in the emerald gown.
"Miss Voss was displeased," Elodie finished quietly, lowering her eyes to the marble floor. "She tore the star. And as I reached for it, she closed the pantry door on my hand."
A collective, quiet gasp rippled through the elite guests. The revelation of the sheer, petty malice involved was shocking even to seasoned syndicate members. It wasn't discipline; it was a cruel, vindictive torture inflicted out of sheer jealousy over a child's paper toy.
Rafael froze. His entire body went rigid, the breath catching violently in his broad chest. His cold eyes looked at the taped-together gold star resting against Elodie's apron. The realization of his son frantically taping the torn pieces of his gift together, while the woman he loved bled, cemented itself in his mind.
Slowly, deliberately, Rafael moved.
He reached out with his artistic, tattooed hands. He grasped the heavy, carved walnut dining chair sitting completely empty beside his own place setting. With a slow, scraping sound that echoed loudly across the silent marble floor, Rafael pulled the empty chair out from the table.
He turned his body slightly, looking directly at the beautiful, trembling housemaid.
"Sit down, Elodie," Rafael commanded gently.
The guests stared in absolute, breathless disbelief. A mafia boss was publicly offering the seat of honor—a seat traditionally reserved for a second-in-command or a highly respected guest—to a housemaid in a white ruffled headband.
"Sir, I cannot," Elodie whispered, her face flushing a deep rosy red. "I am on duty."
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"You are off duty," Rafael stated, his deep voice leaving absolutely no room for debate. "Sit."
Elodie hesitated for a fraction of a second before slowly lowering herself into the velvet dining chair beside him. The ultimate, unapologetic disrespect to the socialite sitting on his left was staggering. Rafael had just publicly elevated a servant above his own fiancée in front of the entire syndicate.
