Chapter 6
Bennett stepped away from the sideboard, his polished leather shoes crunching softly over the debris of the ruined privacy screens. He walked back to where Milo, Nora, and Tess stood huddled together.
With swift, precise movements of his heavily tattooed hands, Bennett unbuckled the wide luggage straps from his children’s wrists. The moment they were free, all three toddlers lunged forward, wrapping their small arms around his long, tailored legs. Tess buried her tear-stained, rosy face into his trousers, sobbing quietly.
Bennett knelt down, enveloping all three of them in a fierce, protective embrace. He pulled them safely behind his broad, masculine frame, shielding them from the sight of the unconscious Gavin and the weeping Miranda.
"You are safe. Nothing will touch you," Bennett murmured. His voice was incredibly low, a measured, calming rumble that instantly began to soothe their panic.
He stood back up, keeping the children tucked securely behind him. The dark wine staining his unbuttoned shirt looked like blood in the bright cinematic lighting of the corridor. He slowly turned his head to look at Miranda, who was staring up at the security monitor in total, defeated horror.
Bennett looked from the live image of the three empty car seats in the waiting van, and then slowly shifted his gaze toward the open double doors leading into the lakeside ballroom.
Inside the massive, brilliantly lit room, the party continued unabated. Hundreds of white American adults, dressed in expensive formal wear, danced, drank, and laughed. They were capos, lieutenants, trusted business associates, and family members.
"Fifty million dollars," Bennett said, the words slipping from his lips like poison. He spoke slowly, with controlled, terrifying pauses. "Is not a transaction. Conducted by strangers."
Miranda squeezed her eyes shut, pulling her knees to her chest. She knew exactly what he was implying. A deal of that magnitude, requiring intimate knowledge of the estate’s security and the children's exact movements, could only have been brokered by someone sitting at his own tables.
Bennett took a single step toward the open ballroom doors. His cold, sharp eyes scanned the glittering crowd. He did not raise his voice. He did not need to shout to convey the apocalyptic level of violence he was about to unleash.
"Which one. Of my guests," Bennett asked. His voice was quiet, lethal, and absolute. "Came to collect. My children?"
On the floor across the hall, Gavin Price groaned. He had regained a fraction of consciousness, blood pouring from his shattered nose. Hearing Bennett’s deadly question, Gavin’s eyes fluttered open.
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Driven by sheer, subconscious panic, Gavin instinctively turned his head and looked directly into the crowded ballroom, his gaze locking onto a specific table near the grand fireplace.
Bennett saw the movement. He tracked Gavin’s line of sight through the open doors, his eyes narrowing as he identified the target sitting comfortably among the elite guests.
