Chapter 5
The air in the drawing room crackled with a lethal tension. Celine, cornered against the silk drapes, realized that her aristocratic entitlement held absolutely no weight against the cold, calculating fury of the mafia boss. Her attempt to discipline the household had backfired into a catastrophic exposure of her true nature.
"You need me!" Celine shrieked, grasping at the last shreds of her political power and family influence. "My family controls the western distribution lines! We built this alliance together! If you break this engagement, my father will start a war that will burn this city to the ground!"
"Do you think the threat of a war frightens me more than a monster sleeping in my bed?" Dorian inquired, tilting his head slightly, his cold, observant eyes narrowing into dark, lethal slits.
He didn't wait for her to process the absolute lack of mercy in his gaze. He reached into the inner pocket of his tailored dark three-piece suit, his refined tattoos catching the golden light, and withdrew a heavy, encrypted mobile phone.
"Are you waiting in the grand foyer, Marcus?" Dorian asked into the receiver. He paused, listening to his unseen underboss on the other end of the line. "Will you bring two men into the drawing room immediately?"
Celine gasped, her hands flying to her mouth in sheer, unadulterated terror. She knew exactly what Marcus did for the Westbrook family. He was the man who made Dorian’s problems disappear without a trace.
"No! Dorian, please!" Celine shrieked, kicking off her expensive heels and scrambling backward across the marble floor, her emerald gown dragging behind her. "You can't do this! I am a Rowe! My family will kill you! My father will slaughter your entire syndicate for this!"
The heavy mahogany double doors of the drawing room swung open violently. Marcus, a towering man with a heavily scarred face and a dark trench coat, stepped into the room, flanked by two equally intimidating enforcers. They moved with absolute, silent precision, ignoring the lavish surroundings and focusing entirely on their boss.
"Will you escort my former fiancée to the holding cells in the sub-basement?" Dorian asked, not taking his eyes off the weeping woman backed against the wall.
"No! No, please!" Celine shrieked, kicking and thrashing wildly as the two enforcers reached out and grabbed her by the arms. They hauled her to her feet with effortless strength, the delicate fabric of her elegant satin evening gown tearing audibly at the seams. "I loved you, Dorian! You owe me! I saved you from a pathetic life with the help!"
"Will you ensure she is gagged if she continues to scream, Marcus?" Dorian inquired, casually adjusting the open collar of his dark suit.
Marcus nodded grimly. "Yes, boss. Let's go, princess."
The enforcers dragged Celine backward toward the doors. Her threats devolved into hysterical, panicked sobs that echoed down the grand hallway until the heavy doors clicked shut behind them, sealing the drawing room in a profound, suffocating silence once more. The engagement was violently, irreparably over.
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Dorian stood perfectly still for a long moment. The tension slowly bled out of his powerful shoulders. He turned his head, his dark, swept-back hair catching the light of the crystal chandeliers, and looked across the room to where Nell was sitting. She had collapsed onto the velvet sofa, her face buried in her hands, her body shaking with silent, agonizing sobs.
He walked slowly back across the polished marble floor. He dropped to one knee, completely ignoring the crease it put in his expensive tailored trousers, bringing himself down to eye level with her.
