Chapter 7
"You need us!" Celia screamed, slamming her manicured hands down on the gold-rimmed porcelain, rattling her crystal wine glass. "Without the Arden family, the border factions will tear you apart! You are making a catastrophic mistake! You are choosing a servant over a queen!"
Adrian’s jaw locked. He did not raise his voice. He did not reach for a weapon. His restraint was a masterclass in terror.
"Do you believe a queen commands respect by locking children in the dark?" Adrian inquired softly.
He slowly swept his gaze across the room, taking in the numerous capos, donors, and relatives sitting frozen at the long banquet table. His eyes locked onto Marcus, his most trusted lieutenant.
"Have you all finished your meals?" Adrian asked the room at large.
It was phrased as a polite question, but the command hidden within it was unmistakable and absolute.
Chairs scraped violently against the polished marble floors as the fifty guests practically scrambled to their feet. There were no polite farewells, no lingering handshakes. Men in tailored suits and women in expensive evening gowns fled the bright, elegant room with frantic urgency, eager to escape the blast radius of Adrian Hartwell’s wrath.
"What are you doing?!" Celia shrieked, watching her audience, her leverage, and her protection sprint for the mahogany doors. "You can't just dismiss them! My family's capos are in this room!"
The men loyal to the Arden family did not stay. They took one look at the cold, calculating fury in Adrian's eyes and the armed men loyal to the Hartwell syndicate stepping out from the shadows, and they ran just as fast as the civilians.
Within ninety seconds, the expansive dining hall was completely empty, save for Adrian, Celia, Nora, Leo, and four heavily armed Hartwell bodyguards.
The heavy mahogany doors slammed shut, sealing the room and locking Celia inside with her greatest nightmare.
"Did you truly believe you could run a psychological torture operation against my bloodline and remain seated at my table?" Adrian asked, turning his terrifying focus entirely back to the woman in the emerald gown.
Celia backed away from the table, her heels clicking unsteadily against the marble floor. She wrapped her arms around her waist, a defensive posture that crushed the luxurious fabric of her expensive gown. Her diamond earrings shook as she wept, her carefully constructed, elegant public manner entirely destroyed.
"Adrian, you cannot believe this is real," Celia sobbed, her chest heaving as she tried to backpedal. "We are supposed to unite our syndicates! You cannot throw all of that away because of a misunderstanding! I will apologize to the girl! I will never touch the boy again!"
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Adrian stood immovably in his tailored dark three-piece suit. He kept his hand firmly on Leo's wheelchair, keeping the boy and the housemaid safely shielded beside him.
"Are you prepared to remove the ring from your finger, Celia, or must I cut it from your hand?" Adrian asked, his deep voice carrying a measured, lethal calm.
