Chapter 6
The cascading crystal chandeliers cast a brilliant, unforgiving light on Rosalind’s tear-streaked face. The elegant, sophisticated woman who had welcomed the guests an hour ago was completely undone, her controlling temperament shattered against the impenetrable wall of Benedict’s cold, perceptive eyes.
"You can't do this to me," Rosalind wept, her American accent losing all its polished refinement. "I love you, Benedict. I was only trying to protect our future."
"Does a future built on the broken bones of my son hold any value to me?" Benedict asked.
His deep, low voice did not rise in volume, yet it resonated with a terrifying, lethal finality. He stood immaculately in his tailored dark three-piece suit, the refined artistic tattoos on his hands resting calmly at his sides.
"It was a mistake!" Rosalind shrieked, her desperation turning into a frantic, ugly anger. She pointed a trembling, manicured finger at Vera. "She is poisoning him against me! That maid is always whispering to him, coddling him! She undermined my authority!"
"Do you possess authority in a house that does not belong to you?" Benedict asked.
Rosalind choked on a sob, her hands flying to her face. She realized, with a sickening, hollow drop in her stomach, that there was no negotiation. There would be no second chances. The mafia boss had issued his verdict entirely through questions, and the sentence was absolute banishment.
With shaking hands, Rosalind reached for her left ring finger. She pulled the massive, flawless diamond engagement ring off her hand and threw it violently onto the cream damask tablecloth. It landed with a dull clatter next to a gold-rimmed porcelain plate.
"My family will destroy you for this," Rosalind hissed, her fair, rosy skin mottled with red, furious blotches. "We will burn your businesses to the ground."
"Will you start the fires yourself, Rosalind?" Benedict asked, offering a slow, icy smile that did not reach his eyes.
Rosalind let out a frustrated, hysterical scream. She turned on the heels of her expensive shoes and practically ran toward the carved walnut doors. Her sculpted silk gown dragged heavily behind her, a ruined symbol of her failed ambition. The heavy doors slammed shut with a resounding boom, leaving the bright, airy dining room to settle into a profound, ringing silence.
Benedict did not watch her leave. He slowly turned around, his polished leather shoes pivoting on the thick patterned rug. He walked back toward the grand piano, where Vera and Nolan remained frozen in place.
The little boy was staring at the closed doors, his small hands clutching the edge of the piano bench. His chest heaved with silent, repressed tears.
"Why are you crying, Nolan?" Benedict asked gently, dropping to one knee so that his angular, handsome face was level with his son's.
"I ruined the party," Nolan whispered, a fat tear spilling over his eyelashes and tracking down his cheek. "I made her mad. I'm sorry, Daddy. I just wanted to play Mommy's song."
"Did you think I would ever choose a party over your safety?" Benedict asked, reaching out with his tattooed hands to gently wipe the tear from his son’s face.
Nolan threw his arms around his father's thick neck, burying his face into the crisp fabric of the tailored suit, sobbing openly now that the threat was gone. Benedict held him tightly, closing his eyes as a wave of fierce, protective masculine energy washed over him. He was a ruthless killer to the outside world, but in the luminous glow of his own home, he was simply a father.
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Vera stood quietly beside them, her heart aching at the beautiful, vulnerable display. She kept her bandaged right hand cradled against her waist, trying to remain invisible, but Benedict opened his eyes and looked directly at her over his son's shoulder.
"Are you in pain, Vera?" Benedict asked.
