Chapter 2
The bright, cinematic lighting of the reception hall offered no shadows to hide the brutal reality unfolding near the tables. As Oswald’s hand reached toward the fractured bone of the shoulder, Leander reacted with pure, agonizing instinct. He immediately turned that shoulder away, twisting his torso awkwardly to anticipate and evade another painful grip. The sudden movement sent a fresh wave of agony radiating down his arm, but he refused to cry out in front of his syndicate.
Althea did not hesitate. Her heart pounded a frantic rhythm against her ribs as she abandoned her station by the serving carts. Her black dress swished softly as she closed the distance, stepping directly into the highly volatile space between Leander, Oswald, and the two massive bodyguards.
She immediately approached Leander, her expressive eyes wide with a terrifying mixture of fear and absolute devotion. She didn't look at the furious uncle or the towering guards. She focused entirely on the mafia boss.
She reached out, her small, fair hands moving with incredible gentleness—a stark contrast to the aggression that surrounded them. She gently supported his injured forearm, preventing it from hanging uselessly and pulling on the shattered shoulder. Her fingers trembled violently against the tailored fabric of his dark suit.
"Sir… keep your arm still," Althea whispered softly, her American accent cracking with deep, frantic worry.
Leander’s breathing was ragged. He slowly turned his head, pulling his intense gaze away from his uncle to look directly at the housemaid standing beside him. The sheer bravery of her act—defying a senior capo in a room full of dangerous men just to support his broken arm—was staggering.
He met her worried, expressive eyes, finding a sudden, fierce sanctuary in their depths. The cold, unyielding armor he wore as the mafia boss softened for a fraction of a second. He looked at her, his jaw clenched so tightly the bone looked as though it might snap.
"He knows exactly where it’s broken," Leander said through clenched teeth, his deep voice a lethal, vibrating rumble meant only for her ears, though it carried the weight of a death sentence for his uncle.
Before Althea could fully process the chilling implication of his words, Oswald moved again. Enraged by the interruption of a mere servant and determined to assert his dominance in front of the watching capos, Oswald suddenly clamped his hand around Leander’s injured wrist once more. He squeezed with brutal, agonizing force.
Althea’s eyes widened in sheer horror. She felt the violent tremor shoot through Leander’s muscular arm. For a terrifying, microscopic second, the sheer agony of the grip caused Leander’s knees to briefly buckle.
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The image of the towering, masculine mafia boss faltering under the torture of his own bloodline sent a lethal surge of adrenaline through Althea's veins. The fierce, protective instinct that she had harbored for him for years suddenly shattered her ingrained sense of servitude.
She let go of his forearm. She planted her flat shoes firmly on the polished floor, entirely ignoring the two armed bodyguards standing just feet away. She didn't think about the consequences. She didn't think about the syndicate rules. She only thought about stopping the pain being inflicted on the man she loved.
