Chapter 8
The luminous, airy warmth of the dining room offered no solace to the woman kneeling on the patterned rug. Viviana sobbed uncontrollably, her face buried in her manicured hands, her diamond engagement ring catching the bright light in a mocking display of failed ambition. The silence stretched, tight and unforgiving, broken only by her ragged, panicked weeping.
Elliot stood over her, an imposing monolith of masculine power. His polished leather shoes rested mere inches from the hem of her ruined silk gown. He waited, his patience a weapon as sharp and precise as a scalpel.
"Are you prepared to detail exactly who helped you orchestrate the crash, or must I call my interrogators to assist you?" Elliot asked, his deep voice carrying a measured, lethal calm.
Viviana flinched violently at the threat. She dropped her hands, her fair skin streaked with ruined makeup, her eyes wide with primal terror. She knew the stories of what Elliot Crowne did to traitors within his syndicate.
"It was Marcus Thorne!" Viviana choked out, the venom finally breaking through her tears as self-preservation took over. "He cut the brake lines after I cornered her in the garage! I had to pull the gun to keep her quiet while he worked! We made it look like she lost control on the cliffs! I swear on my life, it was my father's plan!"
The sheer, calculated magnitude of the betrayal was staggering. Viviana wasn't just a cruel woman; she was a cold-blooded assassin who had executed his wife to merge their crime families.
Elliot did not react physically. His high-bridged nose and sharply defined jawline remained locked in a mask of cold composure. But behind his perceptive eyes, a dark, violent calculus was rapidly computing the depth of the immediate danger to his syndicate.
"Did you believe that framing an accident would allow your father to absorb my territory without a war?" Elliot asked quietly.
"We were just trying to secure our future!" Viviana pleaded, reaching out to grasp the leg of his tailored trousers. "I was trying to protect myself, Elliot! If I didn't do it, my father would have given the contract to someone else! I spared you from mourning a violent murder!"
Elliot looked down at the trembling woman clinging to his leg. He felt absolutely nothing for her. The affection he had feigned for the sake of the syndicate merger evaporated instantly, leaving behind a cold, calculating void that craved only survival and absolute retribution.
"Do you expect me to harbor my wife's executioner under my roof?" Elliot asked.
He didn't wait for her to answer. He reached down with his artistic, tattooed hands and forcefully peeled her fingers off his suit. He stepped back, severing all physical contact with her forever.
"Is there any reason I shouldn't have my men escort you to the basement holding cells immediately?" Elliot inquired, adjusting the cuffs of his shirt with immaculate precision.
"Elliot, please, you can't!" Viviana wept, crawling forward on her knees. "My father will kill you when he finds out the engagement is broken! He will burn this city to the ground to avenge me!"
"Are the consequences of your treason my concern?" Elliot asked.
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He reached into his jacket and retrieved a sleek, encrypted smartphone. He dialed a single digit and pressed the phone to his ear. The small neck tattoo shifted seamlessly with the movement.
"Will you send a security detail to the grand dining room?" Elliot asked into the receiver. "Will you ensure Miss Shaw is escorted to the holding cells beneath the east wing immediately?"
