Chapter 4
The sheer brutality of Silas’s quiet question hung in the warm, golden air, freezing the blood in Bianca’s veins. She stared at the mafia boss, finally comprehending that the handsome, refined man she was engaged to was entirely capable of monstrous violence.
"You wouldn't dare," Bianca whispered, though she was shaking so violently her diamond earrings rattled. "My family has an army, Silas. If you touch me, they will burn this mansion to the ground with you inside it."
Silas raised his hand, his tattooed fingers gesturing elegantly toward the shadows near the heavy double doors. His underboss, a towering man named Marcus, immediately stepped out from the periphery, having remained behind when the guests fled.
"Marcus, will you escort my former fiancée to the holding room in the cellar?" Silas asked, his cold eyes never leaving Bianca's terrified face.
"No! Silas, no!" Bianca screamed as Marcus closed the distance in three massive strides. The enforcer grabbed her firmly by the arms. She thrashed wildly, the delicate ivory silk of her gown ripping as she fought the iron grip. "You can't put me in a cage! I am a Sterling! My father will kill you!"
"Will your father even know you are in the cellar before my men reach him?" Silas asked as Marcus dragged her forcefully toward the exit. Bianca’s frantic shrieks echoed off the carved walnut paneling until the heavy oak doors finally slammed shut, cutting off her voice entirely.
The grand dining room was suddenly draped in a profound, heavy silence. The tall ivory candles continued to flicker, casting a gentle glow over the crystal stemware and white roses.
Silas turned his broad shoulders, his attention returning fully to the young maid and his daughter. Phoebe was still clinging tightly to Laurel’s uninjured hand, her small face pale but relieved. Laurel looked absolutely terrified, her chest rising and falling rapidly beneath her black dress.
"May I see your arm, Laurel?" Silas asked gently. His deep voice had lost its lethal edge, replaced by a quiet, protective warmth that completely altered his angular face.
Laurel hesitated, then slowly extended her trembling right arm. Silas took her hand. His touch was incredibly gentle, his large fingers completely enveloping hers. He pushed the starched white cuff back further, examining the dark, mottled bruising that marred her fair skin.
"Does it hurt when I press here?" Silas asked, his thumb hovering just a millimeter above the darkest part of the bruise.
"Only a little, sir," Laurel lied softly, her heart hammering against her ribs. The proximity to him, the sheer physical power he radiated, was overwhelming.
"Why did you attempt to take the blame for her cruelty?" Silas inquired, looking up from her wrist to meet her expressive eyes.
Laurel swallowed hard. "Because she told Phoebe that if the glass was broken, she would send me away. I couldn't let Phoebe lose anyone else, Mr. Beaumont. I just wanted to keep the peace."
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"Did you believe I would allow a woman who hurts you to stay in my home?" Silas asked, his voice dropping to an incredibly intimate, low rumble.
Laurel stared at him, entirely unable to find her voice, realizing that this dangerous man had just declared war on a rival syndicate solely to protect her.
