Chapter 8
The bright, natural sunlight seemed to sharpen, acting as a harsh, unforgiving spotlight on the two hundred guests trapped inside the ballroom. The wealthy elite shifted uncomfortably, their rosy complexions paling under Benedict’s piercing, predatory gaze. No one dared to speak. No one dared to look away. They all knew that breathing too heavily might draw the attention of the veteran Mafia boss.
"I... I can't," Evelina wept from the floor, shaking her head violently. "If I give you the name, they will slaughter my entire family. They promised me!"
"Your family is no longer my concern," Benedict stated, his voice a low, rumbling hum of pure intimidation. "But your life is currently in my hands. Point to the man, Evelina. Or I will let my interrogators ask you the question in the basement."
Evelina let out a horrified, breathless sob. She knew the reputation of the Thornmere interrogators. She slowly lifted her trembling, manicured hand, tears streaming down her flawless face. Her finger shook as she pointed toward the back of the room, near the heavy, locked mahogany doors.
The crowd immediately parted like the Red Sea, desperately scrambling away from the trajectory of her finger.
Standing alone in the sudden clearing was a man in a sharp, grey tailored suit. He was in his late thirties, with fair skin and slicked-back blonde hair. It was Julian Vance, a mid-level associate and a man Benedict had trusted with managing the legal fronts of the northern ports.
Julian’s face went dead white. He realized instantly that his cover was completely blown.
"Julian," Benedict said softly, the name echoing across the silent ballroom. "It appears you have been exceptionally busy."
Julian didn't attempt to lie. Driven by the sheer, adrenaline-fueled instinct of a cornered animal, he bolted. He spun on his polished leather shoes and threw his entire body weight against the heavy mahogany doors, desperately clawing at the engaged deadbolts.
"Stop him," Benedict commanded, his voice barely above a whisper.
The bodyguards moved with terrifying, explosive speed. Before Julian could even turn the first brass lock, two massive men in dark suits tackled him to the floor. The impact was brutal, the sound of breaking cartilage echoing as Julian’s face smashed into the polished marble. He screamed in agony as the guards violently wrenched his arms behind his back, securing him with heavy tactical zip-ties.
"Bring him to the front," Benedict ordered, his eyes never leaving the struggling traitor.
The guards hauled Julian to his feet, dragging him by the collar of his expensive grey suit through the parted sea of terrified guests. They threw him onto his knees at the base of the presentation platform, right beside the weeping Evelina.
Julian gasped for breath, blood dripping from his shattered nose onto the pristine floor. He looked up at Benedict, sheer terror radiating from his eyes.
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"It wasn't personal, Mr. Thornmere!" Julian pleaded, his American accent slurring through the blood. "The Chicago outfit offered me ten million dollars! I couldn't say no! They have an army mobilizing outside the city right now!"
Benedict stood tall, his dark overcoat draped flawlessly over his broad shoulders. He looked down at the two traitors kneeling before him in the bright, cinematic light. He had the answers he needed. He slowly reached his fingers into the torn envelope, pulling out the folded, encrypted documents that contained the blueprint to his empire.
