Chapter 6
The senior capo immediately stood up from his velvet chair, unbuttoning his tailored suit jacket to reveal the dark holster beneath. "Yes, Boss."
"Will you and two of your men escort this woman to the holding cells in the sub-basement?" Rowan asked, not taking his cold stare off Celia.
"No! Please, Rowan! You can't put me in a cell!" Celia screamed, kicking wildly as Silas and two massive enforcers approached her, grabbing her roughly by her arms and hauling her away from the table.
"Will you ensure she is kept entirely isolated?" Rowan continued, completely ignoring her thrashing and screaming. "We will discuss the exact nature of her punishment once I have verified her family had no knowledge of this."
"My father will kill you!" Celia screamed, her voice cracking with hysteria as the men dragged her backward, the delicate champagne fabric of her gown tearing audibly.
"Let him try," Rowan replied quietly, finally turning his back on her.
Celia's frantic, desperate screams echoed down the long, marble corridor as she was dragged toward the heavy mahogany doors. The doors slammed shut with a definitive, echoing thud, sealing the dining hall in a profound, heavy silence.
Rowan turned his attention back to the room. He looked at the fifty guests who were staring at him with wide, terrified eyes. The festive evergreen garlands and the sparkling Christmas tree felt entirely absurd against the backdrop of an exposed murder plot.
"Are you all waiting for dessert, or have you lost your appetites?" Rowan asked the crowd, his deep voice carrying a cold, dismissive edge.
The spell broke. The elite guests scrambled for the exits, eager to escape the unpredictable wrath of the mafia boss. Chairs scraped loudly against the cream marble floor as they hurried out, leaving their untouched gold-rimmed porcelain and crystal glasses behind. Within minutes, the vast, luxurious room was entirely empty of civilians, leaving only a few trusted guards, Rowan, Nell, and Finn.
Rowan let out a long, slow breath. The rigid tension in his broad shoulders relaxed by a fraction of an inch. He turned his full attention back to the woman and child standing behind him.
Nell was on her knees on the marble floor, her rumpled white apron pooling around her. She was holding Finn tightly to her chest, rocking slightly back and forth, consumed by a fresh, agonizing wave of relief and grief. Finn was burying his face in her shoulder, overwhelmed by the sudden violence and shouting.
Rowan walked slowly to them. He dropped to one knee, completely ignoring the crease it put in his expensive tailored trousers. He reached out, his heavily tattooed hands gently enveloping Nell’s shaking shoulders.
"Nell," Rowan whispered, his voice losing the lethal edge it had carried moments before, softening into a quiet, intimate register. "I am so deeply sorry."
Nell looked up, her puffy, shadowed eyes meeting his. "She killed Rosa, Mr. Whitmore. She made me watch her die."
"I know," Rowan said, his own eyes burning with unshed emotion. "And she will pay for it. I swear to you on my life, she will pay for every tear you have shed."
He stood up straight, lifting Finn effortlessly into his arms, keeping the boy tucked securely against his broad shoulders. He turned his attention back to Nell, offering her his hand.
"Come," Rowan said gently, pulling her to her feet. "We cannot stay in this room. The estate will be on lockdown within the hour, and the Vane family will likely retaliate before dawn once they realize Celia is missing."
"Where will I go, sir? I am just a maid," Nell whispered, looking down at her creased black dress.
"You are not a maid tonight, Nell," Rowan replied, his deep voice resolute. "You are under my absolute protection. You and Finn."
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"Silas," Rowan called out to the capo standing near the doors. "Have a detail escort us to my private study. I want four men on the door at all times."
"Right away, Boss," Silas nodded, gesturing for his men to form a protective perimeter.
