Chapter 9
The silence in the grand dining hall was absolute, a heavy, oppressive weight that smothered the bright, airy elegance of the room. The cascading crystal chandeliers continued to bathe the ivory wall panels in a soft, elegant warmth, but the atmosphere had turned as cold as a morgue.
Yvonne was completely isolated, standing alone opposite the unified front of the Ashford patriarch, the brave housemaid, and the vindicated chauffeur.
"You can't do this, Kellan," Yvonne hissed, panic mutating into cornered, vicious entitlement. "My family brings the western ports to this alliance. If you humiliate me based on the ramblings of a senile old man, my father will declare war. He will shut down your supply lines and burn this city to the ground."
"Will he declare war?" Kellan asked, tilting his head with dangerous curiosity. The loose strands of wavy hair falling over his forehead contrasted violently with the absolute, apocalyptic death promised in his cold eyes. "Or will he thank me for returning his defective, murderous daughter before she caused a war he could not possibly win?"
Yvonne’s mouth dropped open. The color drained entirely from her lips. She realized she had absolutely no power left in the room. The alliance was dead, severed by her own psychopathic ambition and treason.
"Get your hands off me!" Yvonne screamed as two massive men in tailored dark suits stepped forward from the shadows and grabbed her by the arms. She thrashed wildly, her sculpted silk gown twisting awkwardly around her legs. "You are choosing a servant and a traitor over a queen! You are a fool, Kellan!"
"Are empires built by men who sleep beside the assassins of their own fathers?" Kellan inquired, entirely unaffected by her venom.
He didn't wait for a response. He slowly turned his head, his gaze sweeping over the silent, paralyzed guests.
"Is this memorial dinner concluded?" Kellan asked the room at large.
The question was a lethal command disguised as an inquiry. The guests immediately understood. Chairs scraped softly against the polished marble floors as the most powerful men and women in the American mafia stood up in unison. They didn't speak. They didn't offer their goodbyes or polite pleasantries. They simply turned and began a swift, silent exodus from the luminous dining hall, eager to escape the blast radius of the Boss's impending wrath.
Within ninety seconds, the massive, opulent room was entirely empty of guests. The only people remaining in the dining hall were Kellan, Mina, Hugh, Yvonne, and a dozen heavily armed, white American security guards standing quietly in the shadows near the carved marble fireplace.
"What are you going to do to me?" Yvonne whispered, genuine fear replacing her arrogance as she stared at the men holding her arms.
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"Will my men escort you to the lower levels, or will you walk there yourself to await my judgment?" Kellan asked softly, gesturing with a heavily tattooed hand toward the armed guards.
Yvonne let out a ragged, humiliated sob as the guards began to drag her toward the heavy double doors. Her furious, terrified screams echoed through the bright, airy room, fading only when the doors slammed shut, plunging the dining hall back into a profound, ringing silence.
