Chapter 4
The golden light of the dining hall offered no warmth to Juliette. She stared at Callum, her fair, rosy skin drained of all color, leaving her looking sickly and translucent. Her manicured fingers gripped the edge of the polished walnut table, her diamond engagement ring catching the light as her hand shook violently.
Callum did not explode into the violent rage for which he was feared throughout the criminal underworld. The stillness of his muscular, masculine frame was absolute. He slowly stood up from his champagne velvet chair, towering over the table.
"Are you struggling to find a suitable lie, Juliette?" Callum asked.
His deep, low voice remained completely level. The measured pause between his words was a calculated instrument of psychological torture. He did not step toward her, but the sheer gravity of his presence pressed her against the wall.
"Callum, darling, please," Juliette finally gasped, her American accent pitching high and breathless with panic. "He is just a child! He was misbehaving! I was only trying to teach him discipline! You told me you wanted me to take a more active role in his upbringing!"
"Does my son's upbringing require treating him like a captive animal?" Callum inquired, his perceptive eyes narrowing into cold slits.
"He hates me!" Juliette cried, tears of sheer desperation welling in her eyes. "She put him up to this!" She pointed a shaking, diamond-adorned finger at the housemaid. "She has been trying to poison him against me since the day I moved in! She wants to ruin our evening!"
Nessa’s hand instinctively reached out, her fingers brushing the back of Ellis’s chair in a fierce, protective gesture. She glared at the socialite, her soft features hardening with quiet outrage. Ellis shrank back slightly against his father’s leg, overwhelmed by the shouting, but Callum’s solid, unmoving presence kept him anchored.
"Would my son fabricate a humiliation to destroy the foundation of this family?" Callum asked, his voice echoing off the ivory-paneled walls.
"Yes!" Juliette shrieked, looking frantically around the room at the seated guests, silently begging someone—anyone—to intervene. But the elite crowd sat immobilized, their fair faces pale with shock, utterly unwilling to cross the mafia boss.
Callum slowly swept his gaze across the room, taking in the numerous guests sitting frozen at the long banquet table.
"Have you all finished your meals?" Callum asked the room at large.
The question was polite in its phrasing, but the command was absolute and undeniable. Chairs scraped violently against the polished hardwood and marble floors as the guests practically scrambled to their feet. There were no courteous farewells, no lingering handshakes. Men and women fled the bright, elegant room with frantic urgency, desperate to escape the blast radius of Callum Whitestone’s wrath.
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Within ninety seconds, the expansive dining room was completely empty, save for Callum, Juliette, Nessa, and Ellis.
"Did you believe you could torture my blood and remain seated at my table?" Callum asked, turning his terrifying focus back to the woman in the satin gown.
