Chapter 2
The soft, elegant warmth of the dining room suddenly felt suffocating. The golden light from the crystal chandeliers continued to shine brightly, clearly illuminating the horrific reality hidden beneath the pristine white damask tablecloth. Callum stared at the taut metal chain wrapped around his son’s ankle. The refined tattoos on his hands flexed as his fingers gripped the armrest of his velvet chair.
He slowly straightened his posture, leaning in close beside his son. He rested a large, open hand gently and protectively onto Ellis’s small shoulder, feeling the boy trembling beneath the fabric of the dinner jacket.
Callum did not immediately look at his fiancée. Instead, he lifted his cold, perceptive gaze directly into Nessa’s eyes. The housemaid had straightened up, her beautiful, softly rounded face pale with shock. She held the linen napkin tightly against her white apron, terrified of the explosive violence she knew was about to erupt.
"Nessa. Why is Ellis chained?"
Callum’s voice was deep, quiet, and incredibly deliberate. He spoke with a measured, chilling pause after her name. The sheer, commanding authority in his tone sliced through the ambient noise of the room like a straight razor.
The effect was instantaneous and absolute. Every single guest at the long banquet table stopped eating. Forks hovered motionless over gold-rimmed porcelain. Crystal wine glasses were lowered slowly to the polished walnut wood. The polite, affluent American accents died in their throats. Dozens of fair, rosy-cheeked faces turned toward the head of the room, watching the mafia boss direct his terrifying, unbroken focus toward the housemaid and his son.
Juliette, sensing the sudden shift in the room's atmosphere, looked directly into Callum’s eyes. She did not flinch, attempting to maintain her high-society composure. She offered a faint, dismissive smile that did not reach her eyes.
"Ellis wouldn't stay seated," Juliette said, her voice smooth and polished.
She gave a small, airy breath of laughter, as if the situation were nothing more than a charming domestic squabble. Her eyes searched Callum’s angular face for a sign of agreement, silently urging him to play along and not cause a scene in front of their powerful guests.
But Callum did not return her smile. He remained perfectly still, his hand resting on his son, his expression an unreadable mask of cold fury. He stared at her, offering absolutely nothing in return.
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When Callum remained silently terrifying, Juliette's smile stiffened into a brittle, defensive line. She realized he was not going to accept the joke. Only after speaking did she shift her gaze, giving Nessa a brief, venomous warning glance—a silent command for the maid to keep her mouth shut and walk away.
Nessa felt the heat of Juliette's glare, but she could not look away from the little boy who was trembling under his father's hand. The housemaid's heart hammered against her ribs. She was just an employee, a woman paid to serve and disappear, but the maternal instinct burning in her chest refused to be extinguished by the socialite's threat.
