Chapter 5
The physical shift in the dining room was absolute. By physically shielding the housemaid and his son, Rowan had drawn a line in the sand. The fifty guests remained frozen, their eyes locked on the head table, realizing they were witnessing the brutal deconstruction of the syndicate's future matriarch.
Celia backed away until her spine hit the edge of her velvet dining chair. The bright, luminous light of the room offered her no shadows to hide within. She looked wildly around the cavernous dining hall, desperately seeking an ally among the capos, but the hardened men refused to meet her eyes. The accusation of poisoning a beloved housekeeper and terrorizing a child had severed any political ties she held in that room.
"Rowan, you cannot believe this insanity!" Celia pleaded, her hands shaking so violently her diamond earrings rattled. "She is a servant! She is trying to trap you! You cannot believe this girl and a confused child over me! Our families have an alliance!"
"Is an alliance built on the murder of my staff worth keeping?" Rowan asked, his voice a low, vibrating rumble that sent shivers down the spines of the criminals seated nearby.
"It was a heart attack!" Celia shrieked, tears of panic finally spilling over her rosy cheeks, ruining her elegant makeup. "The coroner said it was a heart attack!"
"Did you pay the coroner before or after you forced Rosa to drink?" Rowan inquired, his voice remaining perfectly steady.
He looked down at Celia, his profile catching the warm golden light. The artistic tattoo on his neck shifted as his sharply defined jaw tightened slightly, the muscles ticking beneath his neat stubble. He held a cold, unwavering stare, stripping away the diamonds and the silk, exposing the ruthless, pathetic rot underneath.
"I was doing it for you!" Celia cried out, her voice pitching an octave higher as her panic fully set in. "You demand perfection in this house! The help was getting sloppy! I was securing a perfect operation for us!"
"Do you believe you have the right to decide who lives and dies under my roof?" Rowan asked, his deep voice remaining terrifyingly calm, completely devoid of the hysteria radiating from the woman before him.
"You need me!" Celia 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?" Rowan asked softly.
He didn't wait for her to formulate another pathetic excuse. He turned his head slightly, his gaze locking onto the glass of dark punch resting on the table before her.
"Celia," Rowan said, his voice dropping to a terrifying, deadly whisper. "Taste it yourself."
The command hung in the bright, cinematic light of the room, heavy and absolute. The guests at the banquet tables held their breath, waiting to see if the fiancée would call his bluff or confess her crime.
Celia’s smile faded completely. Her hand trembled violently as she reached toward the crystal glass. Her fingers hovered over the rim, inches away from the dark liquid. She looked up at Rowan, her eyes wide with sheer, unadulterated terror.
Her fingers stopped short of the glass. She couldn't do it. The proof of her guilt was undeniable.
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Rowan didn't yell. He didn't draw a weapon. The absolute, suffocating silence that stretched out from his stare was an execution in itself, pressing down on Celia until she collapsed back into her velvet dining chair, sobbing uncontrollably.
"Silas," Rowan commanded. His deep, measured voice broke the silence, carrying perfectly across the grand dining hall.
