Chapter 6
The sight of the weapon in Finnian's hand caused the remaining guests to scramble frantically away from the head tables. Chairs scraped loudly against the marble floor, but no one dared to run for the exit. They knew better than to cross the line of fire of a mafia boss who had just unearthed a nightmare.
"Finnian, wait!" Marcellus pleaded, raising his hands, his expensive suit stained with white foam. "I can explain! It wasn't just me! The other families... they wanted her gone too!"
"Do you expect me to care about the desires of dead men?" Finnian asked, raising the pistol smoothly until the barrel aimed squarely at the center of Marcellus’s chest.
"Sir, please," Aveline whispered, stepping forward and placing a gentle, trembling hand on his forearm.
Finnian paused, his cold eyes flicking toward the young housemaid.
"Do not shoot him here," Aveline pleaded softly, her expressive eyes wide with concern, not for Marcellus, but for the man she served. "Your wife needs a doctor. She needs you. Do not let him turn you into a murderer in front of her."
Finnian looked at the frail, terrified woman clinging to his side. Lara was trembling violently, her eyes shut tight against the bright lights and the impending violence. Aveline was right. Executing his cousin in the middle of the ballroom would only add to the trauma.
"Do you realize you are the only voice of reason in this house, Aveline?" Finnian asked quietly, slowly lowering the weapon, though he did not holster it.
He looked back at Marcellus, his sharp jaw setting with lethal intent.
"Guards," Finnian commanded, his voice echoing with absolute authority. "Will you take my cousin to the sub-basement holding cells? Ensure he is kept alive until I have the time to extract the names of his co-conspirators."
The two bodyguards didn't hesitate. They moved quickly, grabbing Marcellus by the arms and dragging him toward the service doors.
"No! You can't do this to me!" Marcellus screamed, kicking and thrashing wildly. "I am your blood!"
"Does blood excuse treason?" Finnian asked, watching impassively as his older cousin was hauled away, the heavy doors slamming shut behind him.
The ballroom was suffocatingly silent once more. The guests remained frozen, unsure if they were hostages or witnesses.
"Are all of you waiting for a formal invitation to vacate my home?" Finnian asked the crowd, his deep voice carrying a cold dismissal.
The spell broke. The fifty donors and relatives scrambled for the exits, practically sprinting toward the coat check. Within minutes, the vast, luxurious room was entirely empty, save for Finnian, Lara, and Aveline.
"We need to get her upstairs," Aveline said urgently, stepping closer to help support Lara’s weight. "I will call the private physician immediately."
"Will you walk with us to the elevator, Aveline?" Finnian asked, his eyes filled with a profound, unspoken gratitude. "I do not trust anyone else in this house right now."
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"Of course, sir," Aveline nodded, wrapping her arm around Lara’s other side.
Together, the mafia boss and the housemaid guided the broken woman through the debris of the ruined banquet, moving toward the private elevator. The bright, cinematic lighting illuminated the strange, tragic trio as they ascended to the penthouse, leaving the empty ballroom and the exposed wall behind them.
