Chapter 2
The grand corridor leading into the dining hall was lined with cream marble columns, the air significantly cooler here than in the crowded, festive room beyond the heavy mahogany doors. Elise stood in the shadows of the archway, her heart hammering a frantic, terrifying rhythm against her ribs. She balanced a steaming cup of tea on a small silver saucer, her knuckles turning white.
Standing right beside her was Walter Merrick. At sixty-seven, the man looked like a ghost who had dragged himself out of a watery grave. He wore a weathered, salt-stained wool coat over a simple, faded cardigan. His fair skin was deeply lined with exhaustion, his shoulders bowed from unimaginable trauma, yet his gaze remained remarkably clear, sharp, and steady.
"Are you absolutely certain you want to do this, Mr. Merrick?" Elise whispered, her American accent trembling with genuine terror. "There are fifty armed men in that room. The moment she sees you, she might order them to shoot."
"I did not cross an ocean and survive a freezing grave just to turn back at the door, Elise," Walter replied, his voice a low, gravelly rasp. "She stole my life. She stole my son. I will not let her steal another man's future."
"Mr. Crowne is not a forgiving man," Elise warned softly, looking up into the older man's weathered face. "If he thinks you are a threat to his household, he will not hesitate to eliminate you."
"I am not a threat to him," Walter said, adjusting the collar of his worn wool coat. "I am his salvation from a monster. And I need to see my boy."
Elise swallowed hard, nodding slowly. She had found Walter shivering at the service gate an hour ago, begging for an audience. When he had spoken Dahlia's name, and revealed the horrific truth of his survival, Elise’s innate gentleness and strong moral compass had overridden her fear of the mafia boss. She knew she was risking her own life by bringing an unvetted stranger into the inner sanctum, but she couldn't turn a blind eye to a father seeking his child.
"Stay close behind me," Elise instructed, her voice dropping to a fragile whisper. "I will bring you directly to the head table. Do not make any sudden movements when we enter the light."
"I owe you my life for this, young lady," Walter said, his steady eyes filled with profound gratitude.
"Let us just survive the next five minutes before we talk about debts," Elise replied, taking a deep, shuddering breath.
She pushed the heavy mahogany doors open, the bright, airy light of the chandeliers spilling out into the corridor. The overwhelming scent of roasted meats and evergreen garlands hit them instantly. The loud, boisterous laughter of the syndicate members echoed off the gilded wall panels.
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"Keep your eyes on the floor until we reach the head table," Elise murmured, stepping into the lion's den.
With her graceful posture held rigid by sheer willpower, the beautiful maid in the black and white uniform led the weathered, exhausted ghost of a man straight into the heart of the mafia banquet, walking a tightrope over an abyss of impending violence.
