Chapter 2
The bright, airy warmth of the dining room suddenly felt suffocating. The golden light cascading from the crystal chandeliers illuminated the profound shock etched into Desmond’s angular features. The mafia boss sat frozen in his velvet chair, his tattooed hands resting flat against the polished walnut table. The scent of the orange-and-clove rice pudding hung in the luminous space, an impossible ghost summoned to the engagement dinner.
Desmond did not immediately look at his fiancée. He slowly turned his head, his thick, wavy hair shifting slightly as he looked directly into Elsie’s eyes. The housemaid’s softly squared face was pale, all the rosy warmth draining away under the sheer intensity of his cold, observant focus.
“Elsie. Who taught you this?”
Desmond’s voice was deep and quiet, vibrating with a measured, controlled pause after her name. He spoke exclusively in questions, a chilling linguistic habit that demanded absolute truth. The sheer, commanding authority in his tone sliced through the ambient chatter of the room like a straight razor.
The effect was instantaneous and absolute. Every single guest at the adjacent tables stopped eating and speaking. Forks hovered motionless over gold-rimmed porcelain. Crystal wine glasses were lowered slowly to the tables. The polite, affluent American accents died in their throats. Dozens of fair, rosy-cheeked faces turned toward the head of the room, watching the mafia boss direct his terrifying, unbroken focus onto a newly hired servant.
Elsie held Desmond’s intense, unyielding gaze. Her heart hammered against her ribs like a trapped bird. She knew the extreme danger of crossing Sienna Blake, a woman whose family commanded a powerful syndicate of their own. But looking into Desmond's perceptive eyes, Elsie knew that lying to him would be a fatal mistake.
Elsie’s inner brows lifted slightly in a helpless, agonizing expression of dread. She drew a shallow, ragged breath, trying to force moisture into her dry mouth before answering in a fragile, trembling voice.
“The woman locked downstairs.”
The confession hung in the bright, luminous air, freezing the warm atmosphere into solid ice. The guests held their collective breath, their faces paling in shock as they stared at the housemaid who had just exposed a dark secret in the middle of a high-society celebration.
Desmond did not explode into a violent rage. The stillness of his muscular, masculine frame was infinitely more dangerous. He rose slowly from his chair, placing his towering body deliberately between Elsie and Sienna. He shielded the housemaid with his powerful shoulders, his dark three-piece suit shifting immaculately over his frame.
Sienna met Desmond’s eyes with a faint, reassuring smile. She forced a patient, indulgent look onto her face, though her fair skin had turned a sickly shade of white. Her eyes frantically searched Desmond’s expression for agreement as her voice stayed carefully light.
“My cousin. She’s very confused,” Sienna stated, her American accent dripping with condescending reassurance. “She has been unwell for months, darling. I told you I was taking care of a sick relative. She babbles nonsense.”
Elsie maintained strict eye contact with Desmond. Tears gathered rapidly along her lower eyelids, making her beautiful eyes shine brilliantly under the flickering candlelight. Her lips trembled slightly, fighting the overwhelming terror of the room, but her words remained devastatingly clear.
May you like
“She says she’s your wife.”
Desmond remained completely still for a brief, agonizing beat. He slowly shifted his eyes toward Sienna, followed by a slight turn of his head. His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. He held Sienna in a cold, knowing gaze. Silence enveloped the room entirely.
