Chapter 3
The crackling of the ornate marble fireplace seemed deafening in the profound, suffocating silence of the grand dining hall. Alessandra’s face, previously flushed with wine and the triumph of the evening, drained of all color until her rosy skin turned the shade of ash. Her diamond earrings trembled slightly as a subtle, uncontrollable shake took over her body.
Benedict did not break eye contact with her. He slowly raised his tattooed hand, resting his knuckles on the polished walnut table. The silence stretched until it became agonizing, the elite guests holding their collective breath.
"Are you all waiting for my permission to leave the room?" Benedict asked, his deep, low voice echoing across the long table. He didn't look at the guests; his cold eyes remained entirely fixed on his fiancée.
The question was a direct command. Instantly, the scraping of velvet dining chairs against the hardwood floor sounded like thunder. Dozens of capos, crime bosses, and politicians scrambled to their feet, abandoning their fine porcelain plates and crystal stemware. They moved with a hurried, terrified silence, practically sprinting toward the grand double doors of the dining room. No one offered their goodbyes or wished the boss a happy birthday.
Within two minutes, the massive, luxurious room was entirely empty, save for the three of them: Benedict, Alessandra, and Cora. The heavy mahogany doors clicked shut, echoing with a hollow finality.
"Benedict, darling, please," Alessandra whispered, her voice cracking as the reality of her isolation set in. She reached out across the table, her engagement ring flashing in the candlelight. "The girl is confused. Or worse, she is a grifter. You know how many people have tried to claim a connection to your family for the money."
Benedict slowly lowered his hand from the table. He looked at the small bowl of orange-and-clove rice pudding, then back at the woman he was supposed to marry.
"Do you believe a grifter knows a recipe that hasn't been spoken of in twenty years?" Benedict asked. His measured pauses carried the weight of a death sentence.
"She must have researched you!" Alessandra stammered, pulling her hand back as if the table had burned her. "She’s manipulating you! She hates me! She’s been trying to ruin this engagement since the day I hired her! She wants your money, Benedict!"
Cora stood her ground, though her knees felt weak. She kept her hands folded over her apron, refusing to defend herself. The truth was already standing in the room; it didn't need her protection.
"Do you think I am blind to the face of my own blood?" Benedict asked, stepping slowly around the edge of the table, his broad shoulders dominating the space. "Is burying a child the only way you could secure a ring?"
"It wasn't like that!" Alessandra shrieked, losing her aristocratic composure entirely. "Her mother was a junkie! She was weak! She was going to drag your brother's name through the mud! I paid her off to protect the Ashford legacy!"
"Did you protect my legacy by robbing me of the only family I had left?" Benedict asked, taking another slow, deliberate step toward her.
"You need me!" Alessandra sobbed, real tears of panic finally spilling over her cheeks as she backed away, her satin gown catching on the velvet chair. "My family brought you the southern shipping routes! We built an empire together! If you touch me, my father will start a war that will burn this city to the ground!"
"Do you think the threat of a war frightens me more than the treason committed in my own home?" Benedict inquired, tilting his head slightly, the small neck tattoo shifting against his collar.
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He didn't wait for her to process the absolute lack of mercy in his eyes. He reached into the inner pocket of his tailored dark suit, his refined hand tattoos catching the golden light, and withdrew a heavy, encrypted mobile phone.
"Are you waiting in the grand foyer, Marcus?" Benedict asked into the receiver. He paused, listening to his underboss. "Will you bring two men into the dining room immediately?"
