Chapter 5
The effect on the room was instantaneous and absolute. The sheer, commanding presence of the mafia boss, combined with the impossible sight of the identical boys, stripped away the festive atmosphere of the Christmas reception in a heartbeat.
Every single dinner guest at the grand salon stopped speaking. Champagne flutes were lowered slowly back to silver trays. The polite, affluent conversation died entirely in their throats, replaced by a suffocating, terrified vacuum. Fifty faces turned toward the center of the room, their fair skin paling as they watched Gabriel Vale.
Gabriel stopped moving entirely. His broad shoulders went rigid beneath his tailored dark three-piece suit. He looked at his son, processing the cheerful, innocent words. Then, his dark, observant eyes shifted to the boy standing beside the housemaid.
He saw the cream Christmas sweater. He saw the fair, rosy skin. He saw the exact, flawless replica of his adopted son's face.
The realization of the absolute, impossible truth cemented itself in his calculating mind.
Gabriel moved with absolute, predatory grace. He closed the distance across the marble floor in slow, deliberate strides. The artistic tattoos on his hands flexed as his fists clenched and unclenched. He did not yell. He did not explode. The absolute stillness of his muscular, masculine frame was infinitely more dangerous than any outburst of rage.
He stopped directly in front of the group. He ignored his fiancée completely.
Gabriel studied the boys. He looked back and forth between the navy velvet jacket and the cream sweater, tracing the identical jawlines, the identical eyes.
Then, Gabriel slowly lifted his gaze. He looked directly at Phoebe.
He saw her creased dress, her rumpled apron, and her crooked headband. He saw the profound, exhausted devastation in her expressive eyes. But more importantly, he saw the absolute, paralyzing shock written across her delicate features.
"Phoebe," Gabriel said.
His deep, quiet voice echoed loudly in the dead-silent room. He paused after her name, a controlled, agonizing silence that hung in the bright air like an executioner's blade. He kept his cold, unwavering gaze locked entirely on the trembling housemaid.
May you like
"Twins?" Gabriel asked.
The single word was a knife to the chest of the entire syndicate. It was a deadly demand for confirmation, dripping with the heavy, unimaginable weight of a stolen life.
