Chapter 2
The ambient hum of the crowded Christmas Eve dinner masked the sound of Nora’s soft, unsteady footsteps as she approached the head of the banquet table. Her vision was hyper-focused on the exterior brass bolt securing the paneled door. She moved with a careful, deliberate grace, keeping her head bowed submissively as she navigated the narrow space between the heavy velvet dining chairs and the cream marble columns.
"This vintage is spectacular, Vivienne," another guest, a wealthy syndicate investor, commented loudly over the holiday music. "You must tell me which vineyard you imported it from."
"I will have my assistant send you the details in the morning, Richard," Vivienne replied smoothly, her diamond earrings sparkling as she leaned slightly toward Silas. "Silas has such refined tastes. I merely try to ensure his home reflects them perfectly."
"You are doing a marvelous job," Richard praised. "The estate hasn't felt this alive in months."
Nora reached the space directly beside Silas. The sheer, masculine power radiating from his broad shoulders was intimidating. He was the apex predator of the city, the grieving widower who had violently crushed two rival syndicates following the fire that took his wife. Nora’s hands shook as she placed the heavy brass candlestick down on the side table, right beside the bolted paneled door.
As the brass touched the wood, little Lily shifted in her velvet chair. The six-year-old girl looked down at her gold-rimmed plate, swinging her legs gently. Without thinking, Lily began to hum. It was a short, original three-note bedtime tune, a sweet, melancholic melody that her mother used to sing to her every night. The soft sound drifted through the immediate vicinity, a fragile piece of innocence amidst the mafia elite.
Nora stepped back, preparing to return to the kitchen, when it happened.
After Lily finished her short melody, the exact same three-note tune answered faintly from the other side of the heavy paneled door.
Nora became entirely, horrifyingly still. The blood drained from her fair, rosy cheeks. She stared at the thick wood, her breath catching in her throat.
Silas Ashford’s deep, controlled rhythm of breathing halted. He slowly turned his head, his dark, intense gaze moving directly toward the heavy brass bolt securing the door. The cold, unyielding armor he wore as the mafia boss slipped for a fraction of a second, revealing a profound, urgent questioning. He looked away from the wood and met Nora’s expressive, terrified eyes.
The clinking of crystal glasses and the soft scraping of silver ceased entirely within his immediate radius, the silence spreading outward until it consumed the entire room. One by one, every single dinner guest stopped eating and speaking, turning their heads toward Silas.
"Nora," Silas commanded, his deep, measured voice slicing through the heavy silence of the room like a physical blade. "Who’s in that room?"
The question hung in the bright, luminous air, demanding an answer that would dictate the survival of everyone seated near the head table. The entire syndicate was staring at the housemaid.
May you like
Vivienne’s eyes briefly flicked toward the bolted door, a micro-expression of pure, unadulterated panic flashing across her face before returning to Silas. A reassuring, polished smile appeared on her lips, arriving just slightly late.
"Only old furniture, darling," Vivienne stated, her American accent dripping with a manufactured, gentle sweetness. "The staff must have left a draft open in the ventilation."
