Chapter 3
The cascading crystal chandeliers continued to bathe the room in their bright, airy light, but the engagement dinner was entirely ruined. The guests remained paralyzed in their champagne velvet chairs, watching the confrontation unfold with breathless terror. They were seasoned politicians and syndicate lieutenants, but none of them dared to intervene in a dispute of this magnitude.
Celestine stared up at Bennett, her fair, rosy skin drained of all color, leaving her looking sickly and translucent. She gripped the fabric of her sculpted satin evening gown, her hands shaking violently.
"Are you struggling to find a suitable explanation, Celestine?" Bennett finally asked.
His deep, low voice remained completely level. The measured pause between his words was a calculated instrument of psychological torture. He did not step toward her, but the sheer gravity of his presence pressed her against the wall.
"Bennett, darling, please," Celestine gasped, her American accent pitching high and breathless with panic. "He is confused! His mind is failing him! I brought him down there to protect him because he was wandering the estate! I didn't want him to hurt himself!"
"Does protecting an elder require chaining him to a cellar wall like a rabid animal?" Bennett inquired, his perceptive eyes narrowing into cold slits.
"The maid set this up!" Celestine cried, tears of sheer desperation welling in her eyes. She pointed a shaking, diamond-adorned finger at Selma. "She planted him there! She has been trying to poison you against me since the day I moved in! You cannot believe a servant over your future wife!"
Selma held her ground, her elegant posture unwavering despite the terror hammering in her chest. She instinctively wrapped her hands around Frank's frail shoulders, helping the older man sit up straighter, shielding him from the socialite's venomous panic.
"Would my father fabricate a nightmare to destroy the foundation of this family?" Bennett asked, his voice echoing coldly off the ivory wall panels.
"Yes! He hates me!" Celestine shrieked, looking frantically around the room at the seated guests, silently begging someone—anyone—to intervene. But the elite crowd sat immobilized, their fair faces pale with shock, utterly unwilling to cross the mafia boss.
Bennett slowly swept his gaze across the room, taking in the numerous guests sitting frozen at their polished walnut tables.
"Have you all finished your meals?" Bennett asked the room at large.
It was phrased as a question, but the command hidden within it was unmistakable and absolute. Chairs scraped violently against the polished hardwood and marble floors as the guests practically scrambled to their feet. There were no polite farewells, no lingering handshakes. Men in tailored suits and women in evening gowns fled the bright, elegant room with frantic urgency, eager to escape the blast radius of Bennett Hale’s wrath.
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Within ninety seconds, the expansive dining hall was completely empty, save for Bennett, Celestine, Selma, and Frank. The heavy mahogany doors slammed shut, sealing the room and locking Celestine inside with her greatest nightmare.
"Did you truly believe you could run a shadow prison in my own home and remain standing at my table?" Bennett asked, turning his terrifying focus entirely back to the woman in the satin gown.
