Chapter 2
Before Martha could pull the basket back, a large, heavy hand clamped over her thin wrist. Gabriel gently but immovably kept the basket resting on the table. The artistic tattoos sprawling across the back of his hand and fingers—refined, sharp designs utilizing negative space so as not to appear overly dense—flexed slightly under the ballroom’s golden light. The moderate ink tracing the side of his neck seemed to darken as the muscle beneath his jaw tightened violently.
He did not look at Martha. He looked directly at Serena. The silence that fell over their section of the table was suffocating. Gabriel spoke slowly, deliberately, inserting controlled, terrifying pauses between his words. His volume remained incredibly low, yet it carried the undeniable weight of a death sentence.
"This bread," Gabriel murmured, his eyes locking Serena in place, "kept me alive."
Serena’s condescending smile vanished, replaced by a sudden, pale rigidity. Sensing the shift in the atmosphere, Rose Bennett immediately stepped forward. With graceful, silent urgency, the beautiful waitress pulled out an empty, velvet-lined chair directly beside the mafia boss, offering Martha a sanctuary.
Martha slowly lowered herself into the chair beside Gabriel. He turned entirely toward her, completely ignoring the aristocratic elite around them, giving the frightened old woman his absolute, undivided attention. Martha met his cold, sharp eyes, finding the boy she once fed hidden within them. She took a ragged breath, trying desperately to steady her voice against her panic.
"Gabriel," Martha whispered, a tear finally escaping and tracing the wrinkles of her cheek. "The children haven’t eaten today."
The atmosphere shattered. Gabriel’s expression shifted—not to explosive rage, but to an absolute, terrifying stillness. His large hand moved off the table and closed slowly, deliberately, around his linen napkin, the fabric protesting under his crushing grip.
Serena turned sharply toward Martha, locking eyes with the elderly woman. Panic and arrogant defensiveness warred in her chest, making her polished voice spike with sharp impatience. "That home is closed," Serena snapped.
Martha stared back, physically stricken, as if struck by a physical blow. Gabriel went completely still. The clinking of silverware died. Nearby guests stopped eating, the sudden tension radiating outward like a freezing wind.
Gabriel rose to his full, imposing height. He reached down, resting a reassuring, deeply gentle hand on Martha’s frail shoulder. Then, he leaned forward slightly, looking directly into the terrified eyes of his fiancée.
May you like
"Where," Gabriel asked, his voice a low, dangerously controlled murmur that sent a shiver through the room, "did you send the children?"
Serena’s lips parted, but her breath hitched. Her fingers convulsively clutched her diamond bracelet, scratching at her own skin. No answer came.
