Chapter 5
The question hung in the bright, luminous air, demanding an answer that would dictate the survival of everyone standing near the towering Christmas tree. The entire syndicate was staring at the housemaid. Capos shifted uncomfortably on the burgundy velvet sofas. No one dared to breathe too loudly. The sheer, masculine power radiating from Gideon's frame promised absolute destruction if he was lied to.
Sophie felt the crushing weight of fifty gazes, but the only eyes that mattered were the ones burning into hers. The mafia boss’s dark, intense stare was demanding absolute honesty. She knew that answering this question would either save the elderly woman trapped inside, or it would seal her own death warrant.
Sophie did not hesitate. Her delicate fingers reached out and gripped the cold metal of the exterior brass bolt. With a sharp, metallic scrape that echoed through the silent room, she slid the bolt back. She grabbed the handle and pulled the heavy, narrow dressing-room door wide open.
As the door swung outward, the warm, golden reception light spilled into the cramped, pitch-black space of the old dressing room, instantly illuminating the prisoner inside.
Sophie turned her head slowly, looking back over her shoulder to meet Gideon’s dark gaze. Tears gathered heavily along her lower eyelids, making her clear, expressive eyes shine brilliantly in the golden light.
"Your mother," Sophie answered, her voice incredibly quiet, yet carrying a devastating, undeniable truth that sliced through the silent room. "Bianca locked Eleanor inside."
The devastating confession dropped onto the polished marble floor like toxic acid. A collective, audible gasp erupted from the surrounding guests. The murmurs of the elite syndicate members died instantly. The room was suddenly paralyzed. The woman destined to be the queen of the Hale syndicate had just been publicly revealed to have imprisoned the boss's own mother in a lightless closet.
Eleanor Hale stood in the doorway, blinking against the sudden, blinding illumination of the crystal chandeliers. At sixty-seven, the matriarch wore an elegant navy evening dress and pearl earrings, a stark contrast to the dusty, claustrophobic confines of her prison. She remained alert and uninjured, but her slightly trembling hands and composed, wounded expression betrayed the deep psychological trauma of the betrayal.
Eleanor stepped forward, the warm light catching the silver in her hair. She did not look at the shocked guests, nor did she look at the furious fiancée standing nearby. She met Gideon’s intense, unwavering gaze.
May you like
The mother and son stared at each other in the heavy, suffocating silence of the grand salon. Eleanor steadies a trembling breath, refusing to let the syndicate see her break.
"For refusing to bless the wedding," Eleanor stated clearly, her voice echoing off the gilded mirrors.
