Chapter 6
The silence stretched, thick and suffocating, under the brilliant, natural light of the ballroom. Benedict Thornmere’s gaze remained locked onto his fiancée, his eyes as cold and unforgiving as the deep ocean. The bright, cinematic colors of the room—the crimson drapery, the gold accents, the sapphire of Evelina’s dress—seemed to sharpen into extreme, high-definition focus.
Benedict slowly leveled his gaze, looking directly into Evelina’s terrified eyes.
Every nearby guest, previously frozen in shock, slowly turned their heads. Two hundred pairs of eyes shifted from the shattered vase to the powerful Mafia boss, waiting for the executioner's blade to fall.
"You blamed my daughter for this envelope," Benedict said. His American accent was quiet, controlled, and absolutely lethal. It was not a shout; it was a low, vibrating rumble that carried to the very corners of the vast room. "What on earth is inside it?"
Evelina’s jaw trembled. Her fair, rosy complexion had completely drained of color, leaving her looking sickly and translucent. She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out. Instead, her panicked eyes darted frantically away from Benedict. She looked wildly over his shoulder, scanning the crowd of wealthy relatives and associates standing in the bright sunlight.
She was looking for someone.
Benedict’s veteran instincts flared instantly. He did not turn his head, but his eyes followed the trajectory of Evelina’s desperate gaze. He tracked her line of sight through the sea of formal evening wear, noting the exact sector of the ballroom she was focusing on. She wasn't just panicked about the envelope; she was panicked about whoever she was supposed to deliver it to.
Behind Benedict's dark overcoat, three-year-old Orla held tightly to the tailored fabric of his jacket. He could feel her tiny fists gripping the wool, a grounding reminder of what was truly at stake. His daughter had been used as a pawn, humiliated and terrified, all to provide a distraction for a dead drop.
"Answer me, Evelina," Benedict commanded softly. "Are you going to tell me, or am I going to have to open it right here, in front of all our friends?"
"You can't!" Evelina gasped, her voice cracking hysterically. She gripped the arms of the upholstered chair, pushing herself upright. "Benedict, please! You have to listen to me! It is a private matter! It has nothing to do with the family business! It's... it's a surprise!"
"A surprise," Benedict repeated, the word tasting like ash in his mouth. "You shatter a priceless vase, you attempt to auction my three-year-old daughter off as a servant, and you physically assault me... over a surprise?"
"Yes!" Evelina cried out, tears of sheer desperation welling in her eyes. "It was meant for the wedding! It's a gift! Please, just give it back to me!"
"If it is a gift for our wedding," Benedict reasoned coldly, "then you will have no objection to me opening it."
He raised his right hand, his thumb resting against the edge of the dark wax seal.
"No!" Evelina shrieked, lunging forward from the chair.
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"Marcus!" Benedict barked, his voice finally rising over the chaos.
From the perimeter of the ballroom, four massive, heavily armed bodyguards in dark suits stepped forward simultaneously, their hands resting on their concealed weapons, instantly blocking Evelina’s path and locking down the exits. The charity reception had officially become an interrogation.
