Chapter 8
The finality in Rowan’s question hung in the bright, luminous air, stripping Sabina of every illusion she had harbored about her place in his life. She was not a queen; she was a political pawn, and she had just rendered herself entirely useless. The clean, clear lighting of the room seemed to spotlight her profound failure.
Sabina pushed herself away from the piano, her elegant satin gown rustling violently. Her fair skin was flushed an ugly, mottled red. Desperation made her reckless. She marched toward the center of the cream marble floor, her diamond earrings swinging as she leveled a final, desperate ultimatum at the mafia boss.
“You will regret this,” Sabina hissed, her American accent sharp and venomous. “When my father hears what you have done to me, he will bring his entire army to your gates. He will burn this beautiful mansion to the ground, and he will kill that pathetic maid right in front of you. There is nowhere you can hide her, Rowan.”
Tessa gasped, shrinking back slightly, her uninjured hand clutching the fabric of her black A-line skirt. The threat of a full-scale mafia war was terrifying, but the thought of bringing that violence down upon Finn and Rowan was unbearable.
Rowan released Tessa’s hand and slowly turned to face his former fiancée. The brief window of tenderness had slammed shut, replaced by a cold, calculating fury that radiated from his broad shoulders.
“Do you assume your father’s men can breach my gates before I send you back to him in pieces?” Rowan asked, his deep, low voice echoing ominously across the vaulted ceiling.
Sabina stopped in her tracks, the color draining from her face. She had assumed she would be kicked out, sent packing in a luxury car with a broken engagement. The realization that she might not be allowed to leave at all hit her with the force of a physical blow.
“You wouldn't dare,” Sabina whispered, her voice trembling. “You wouldn't touch a boss's daughter. It violates the treaty.”
“Did you consider the treaty when you assaulted a member of my household and terrorized my son?” Rowan asked, stepping toward her with a slow, predatory grace.
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Sabina scrambled backward, her high heels slipping slightly on the polished marble. “I am Sabina Rowe! You cannot lay a hand on me!”
“Are you under the delusion that I negotiate with abusers?” Rowan asked, his dark eyes entirely devoid of mercy as he raised his left hand, signaling to the shadows waiting in the corridor.
