The chilling reason the mafia boss's daughter was locked beneath the floorboards.

The commotion near the fireplace acted like a stone dropped into a still pond, the ripples of silence spreading rapidly across the opulent salon. The clatter of crystal glasses ceased. The string quartet faltered on a note before hesitantly stopping their performance.

From the center of the room, Lucian Hale noticed the sudden shift in the room's energy. His dark, observant eyes snapped toward the fireplace, instantly recognizing the black and white uniform of a housemaid on the floor.

"Excuse me," Lucian commanded quietly, cutting off a politician mid-sentence.

He moved with absolute, predatory grace. His broad shoulders parted the crowd of fifty guests effortlessly, his polished shoes making no sound against the marble.

Back at the fireplace, Faye’s trembling fingers reached for the heavy iron exterior bolt. The metal was cold and stiff. She gritted her teeth, using both hands to forcefully slide the bolt backward. It moved with a loud, metallic scrape that echoed harshly against the gilded mirrors.

She looked up, her expressive eyes wide with terror, and saw Lucian approaching through the parted sea of guests. The mafia boss's angular jaw was set in a mask of lethal focus, his negative-space tattoos flexing as his hands hung at his sides.

"Someone's under the floor," Faye announced.

Her voice was not a scream, but a desperate, horrified statement that sliced through the ambient noise of the salon with the devastating force of a detonating bomb.

The words hit the room, sparking a collective, quiet gasp from the elite guests standing near the velvet sofas. The sheer, audacious malice of a person being locked under the floorboards during a Christmas reception was shocking even to seasoned syndicate members.

Isabel Cross, standing a few yards behind Lucian, froze. The fair, rosy skin of her face drained of all color, turning a sickly, translucent white beneath her emerald gown. Her polished public smile remained glued to her lips, but it became a rigid, grotesque mask as sheer, unadulterated panic set into her eyes.

Lucian stopped moving entirely. His entire body went rigid beneath his tailored dark three-piece suit. He looked at the heavy wooden hatch, processing the housemaid's terrifying words.

"Open it," Lucian ordered.

His deep, controlled voice was completely devoid of its usual warmth. It was a deadly demand, dripping with the absolute promise of violent retribution for whoever had orchestrated the confinement.

Faye did not hesitate. She hooked her fingers under the iron recessed handle of the wooden hatch. With a heavy, desperate heave, she pulled the hatch upward. The heavy wood creaked loudly on its hinges, falling backward to reveal the dark, narrow stone staircase leading down into the freezing storage cellar.