Chapter 7
The heavy mahogany doors slammed shut behind them, instantly cutting off the ambient noise of the dining hall. The corridor leading to the estate gardens was long and quiet, lined with classic oil paintings and illuminated by the same crisp, neutral white lighting. Tamsin struggled wildly between the two bodyguards, her expensive jewelry rattling loudly against her wrists.
"Let me go!" Tamsin shrieked, her American accent breaking into a raw, pathetic wail. "Orson, you are making a massive mistake! You are fracturing the family over a spoiled child!"
Orson walked three paces behind them, his polished leather shoes clicking methodically against the hardwood floor. He did not speak. His silence was infinitely more terrifying than any threat he could have uttered. He casually unbuttoned the jacket of his tailored three-piece suit, the movement smooth and relaxed.
The bodyguards pushed open the heavy glass doors leading to the expansive, walled gardens of the estate. They dragged Tamsin out onto the stone patio and forcefully threw her to the ground. She collapsed onto the hard flagstones, scraping her knees and tearing the fabric of her luxurious gown.
Orson stepped out onto the patio. The afternoon sun was beginning to dip, but the cinematic brightness of the day still held strong, casting sharp, defined shadows across his angular face.
"Secure the perimeter," Orson commanded the guards, his raspy voice barely a whisper. "No one comes out here."
"Yes, Boss," the guards responded, stepping back into the shadows of the garden walls, leaving the two cousins entirely alone.
Tamsin pushed herself up into a kneeling position. Her fair skin was bruised where Orson had slapped her, and her hair was in disarray. She looked up at the towering, intimidating figure of the Mafia boss.
"You can't kill me, Orson," Tamsin breathed, attempting to muster a final shred of defiance. "I manage the offshore accounts. Half of the capos in that room rely on the money I clean for them. If I disappear, the entire financial structure of the syndicate collapses. You need me."
"I built the financial structure of this syndicate," Orson replied slowly, stepping closer. The small, artistic tattoo on his neck was visible as he tilted his head. "You are merely a clerk who learned how to use a calculator. You are entirely replaceable."
"You are weak!" Tamsin suddenly shouted, tears of pure terror streaming down her face. "Ever since your wife died, you have let that child dictate your life! The other families are watching, Orson! They see a Don who leaves high-level negotiations to read bedtime stories! I was trying to wake you up!"
"By suffocating my daughter," Orson stated flatly, his cold eyes unblinking.
"She is a liability!" Tamsin screamed.
May you like
Orson closed the distance between them. He crouched down gracefully, his tailored trousers creasing perfectly. He looked directly into her terrified eyes.
"She is my blood," Orson whispered, the danger in his voice absolute. "And you have just proven that you are not."
