Chapter 8
"She is a maid!" Juliette shrieked, pointing a shaking, diamond-adorned finger at the space behind Damian, though she shrank back under his lethal glare. "She is nothing! I am the daughter of a king! You cannot humiliate me in front of our families over a clump of hair!"
"You humiliated yourself the moment you resorted to the tactics of a street thug," Damian replied coldly.
He slowly swept his gaze across the room, taking in the numerous capos, donors, and relatives standing frozen among the burgundy velvet sofas. His eyes locked onto Vincent, his most trusted lieutenant.
"Have you all finished your champagne?" Damian asked the room at large.
It was phrased as a polite question, but the command hidden within it was unmistakable and absolute.
Guests practically scrambled toward the exits. There were no polite farewells, no lingering handshakes. Men in tailored suits and women in expensive evening gowns fled the bright, elegant room with frantic urgency, eager to escape the blast radius of Damian Voss’s wrath.
"What are you doing?!" Juliette shrieked, watching her audience, her leverage, and her protection sprint for the heavy mahogany doors. "You can't just dismiss them! My family's capos are in this room!"
The men loyal to the Shaw family did not stay. They took one look at the cold, calculating fury in Damian's eyes and the armed men loyal to the Voss syndicate stepping out from the shadows, and they ran just as fast as the civilians.
Within ninety seconds, the expansive grand ballroom was completely empty, save for Damian, Juliette, Mia, Ella, and four heavily armed Voss bodyguards.
The heavy mahogany doors slammed shut, sealing the room and locking Juliette inside with her greatest nightmare.
"Did you truly believe you could run a physical torture operation against my household and remain standing in my home?" Damian asked, turning his terrifying focus entirely back to the woman in the deep-plum gown.
Juliette backed away from the Christmas tree, her heels clicking unsteadily against the polished marble floor. She wrapped her arms around her waist, a defensive posture that crushed the luxurious satin of her expensive gown. Her emerald earrings shook as her aristocratic bravado finally shattered, leaving only primal terror in its wake.
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"Damian, you cannot believe this is worth ending our alliance over," Juliette sobbed, her chest heaving as she tried to backpedal. "We are supposed to unite our syndicates! You cannot throw all of that away because of a misunderstanding! I will pay her! I will buy her whatever she wants!"
Damian stood immovably in his tailored dark three-piece suit. He kept his broad shoulders squarely between his daughter and the woman who had manipulated them all. He felt absolutely nothing for her. The political 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.
