Chapter 7
Juliette gasped, her fair skin turning entirely translucent. Her diamond earrings shook violently as she looked from the phone in Callum’s hand to his cold, unyielding eyes. The absolute certainty in his gaze confirmed that he was not bluffing. The engagement was over, and her life was hanging by a very thin thread.
Trembling violently, completely stripped of her power and her future, she ripped the heavy diamond engagement ring from her finger. She threw it fiercely onto the white damask table. It struck a crystal wine glass with a sharp crack, spinning out of control before coming to rest near a flickering ivory candle.
"You will regret this, Callum!" Juliette spat, her rosy skin mottled with red, furious blotches. "My family will not let this insult stand! We will destroy everything you love!"
"Do you believe you are the first to make such a promise?" Callum asked smoothly, his voice devoid of any warmth.
The heavy walnut doors of the dining room swung open. Two massive security guards in dark suits entered, their expressions entirely blank. They flanked Juliette, waiting for the order.
"Will you ensure she takes nothing from this house that she did not bring into it?" Callum asked his men.
The guards nodded. They grabbed Juliette by the arms, hauling her roughly to her feet. She shrieked, trashing wildly against their iron grip, but they were unyielding.
"You are a dead man, Callum!" she screamed as they dragged her backward toward the doors.
"Will you send your father my regards?" Callum asked quietly.
He did not answer her further screams. He watched in silence as the heavy oak doors slammed shut behind her, severing the alliance and guaranteeing a bloody mafia war. The room was finally quiet again.
Callum stood alone near the head table for a long moment, his broad shoulders rising and falling with a slow, controlled breath. The betrayal was absolute, the upcoming syndicate war with Juliette’s father inevitable, but the immediate, rotting sickness within his home had been surgically removed.
He turned his body, his polished leather shoes pivoting seamlessly on the thick rug, and walked toward the heavy walnut doors. The bright, luminous colors of the dining room felt empty now. He needed to check on the only two people who mattered.
He ascended the grand sweeping staircase, leaving the airy grandeur of the main floor for the more muted, utilitarian corridors of the family wing. Even here, the mansion maintained an elegant warmth, though the crystal chandeliers were replaced by simple, polished brass sconces.
He stopped outside the door to Ellis's bedroom. He didn't knock, simply turning the handle and stepping inside.
The room was bathed in a soft, warm glow from a bedside lamp. Ellis was sitting up in bed, dressed in a pair of clean, soft cotton pajamas. His fair, rosy skin looked freshly scrubbed. Sitting on the edge of the mattress was Nessa. She had removed her white apron, and her sophisticated black dress looked less formal, more comforting. She was reading from a large storybook, her beautiful, softly rounded face animated and gentle.
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Callum paused in the doorway, watching them. The scene was breathtakingly domestic, a stark contrast to the violence and betrayal he swam in every day.
"Is he feeling better?" Callum asked, his deep voice a low rumble that announced his presence.
