Chapter 9
The single, sharp snap of Lysander’s fingers broke the paralysis gripping the ballroom. Instantly, the heavy mahogany doors at the far end of the hall swung open. Six of Lysander’s personal enforcers, dressed in sharp, tailored suits that mirrored their boss’s aesthetic, marched into the bright, cinematic light. They moved with terrifying, synchronized efficiency, their faces impassive masks of absolute loyalty.
They bypassed the frozen gala guests, heading directly for the upholstered chair where Nerissa Valegrove sat weeping.
Nerissa scrambled backward, pushing herself deep into the plush fabric as the towering men surrounded her. "No! Lysander, please! I am your family! You cannot do this!" she shrieked, her elegant evening gown tangling around her legs as she kicked out wildly.
"Do you believe the title of family grants you immunity from the consequences of murder?" Lysander asked, his voice cold and devoid of any mercy.
He nodded once to the lead enforcer. Two men grabbed Nerissa by the arms, hauling her roughly to her feet. The thick folio of property-transfer papers fell from her hands, scattering across the polished wooden floorboards. The pearl jewelry around her neck snapped as she struggled, scattering tiny, iridescent beads across the floor like drops of frozen rain.
"I built this syndicate with your father!" Nerissa screamed, her aristocratic facade entirely obliterated. She was feral with panic, her high heels scraping uselessly against the wood as they dragged her away from the table. "You will destroy everything we worked for! The other families will view this as weakness! You will invite a war!"
"Do you honestly think I fear a war more than I despise a traitor sitting at my table?" Lysander asked, watching her with a dark, unyielding stare. "Take her to the holding cells in the sub-basement. Ensure she is kept in complete isolation."
"You can't keep me down there! I’ll tell the commission! I’ll destroy you!" Nerissa wailed as they hauled her toward the service doors.
"Are you under the illusion that you will ever speak to another living soul outside of those walls?" Lysander asked softly, though the chilling promise carried clearly across the room.
The heavy service doors slammed shut behind the enforcers, cutting off Nerissa’s frantic, echoing screams with a definitive thud.
The ballroom was instantly plunged back into a profound, ringing silence. The fifty guests remained perfectly still by the crowded banquet tables, their eyes wide with fear and newfound respect. They had just witnessed a bloodless, brutal coup. Lysander had not only eliminated the greatest threat to his power, but he had also sent a terrifying message to anyone who dared to challenge him.
Lysander turned his head slowly, his dark eyes sweeping over the pale faces of the syndicate members.
"Is there anyone else in this room who wishes to question my leadership or the security of my household?" Lysander asked, his deep, measured voice echoing off the high ceilings.
When no one spoke, no one moved, and no one dared to even breathe too loudly, Lysander nodded slightly.
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"Then I suggest you all return to your homes. This gala is concluded," Lysander ordered.
He didn't wait to see if they obeyed. He turned his broad shoulders, dismissing the most powerful people in the city entirely, and focused his complete attention back on the beautiful housemaid standing near the service entrance.
