Chapter 4
The cascading crystal chandeliers continued to bathe the room in their bright, airy light, but the welcome-home dinner had fundamentally shattered. The guests remained paralyzed in their velvet dining chairs, watching the confrontation unfold with breathless terror. They were seasoned politicians and syndicate lieutenants, but none of them dared to intervene in a dispute of this magnitude.
Lucinda stared up at Adrian, her fair, rosy skin suddenly draining of all color, leaving her looking sickly and translucent. The devastating silence from the mafia boss was breaking her resolve faster than any screamed threat. She gripped the fabric of her elegant satin evening gown, her hands shaking violently.
"Are you struggling to find a suitable defense for murder, Lucinda?" Adrian finally asked.
His deep, low, measured voice remained completely level. The controlled pause between his words was a calculated instrument of psychological torture. He did not let go of Lydia's arm; instead, he stepped slightly forward, pulling the housemaid half a step behind his broad, protective shoulders.
"Adrian, darling, please," Lucinda gasped, her American accent pitching high and breathless with panic. "You must understand! It would have been a scandal! My father would have called off the wedding if he knew you had a bastard with a servant! I was protecting the alliance! I was protecting you!"
"Does protecting our alliance require you to execute my unborn child in the stairwell of my own home?" Adrian inquired, his perceptive eyes narrowing into cold slits.
"She is nothing!" Lucinda cried, tears of sheer desperation welling in her eyes. She pointed a shaking, diamond-adorned finger at Lydia. "She is a maid! You can have a legitimate heir with me! You cannot throw everything away over a mistake!"
Lydia leaned heavily against Adrian's grip, her elegant posture faltering as the physical pain flared again. The warmth of his large, tattooed hand on her forearm was her only anchor. She squeezed her eyes shut, the tears finally slipping down her delicate cheekbones.
"Do you believe the value of my bloodline is dictated by the woman who carries it, or by the man who sires it?" Adrian asked, his voice echoing coldly off the cream marble floors.
"She seduced you!" Lucinda shrieked, looking frantically around the room at the seated guests, silently begging someone—anyone—to intervene. But the elite crowd sat immobilized, their fair faces pale with shock, utterly unwilling to cross the mafia boss.
Adrian slowly swept his gaze across the room, taking in the numerous guests sitting frozen at their polished walnut tables.
"Have you all located the exits, or do my men need to assist you?" Adrian asked the room at large.
It was phrased as a question, but the command hidden within it was unmistakable and absolute. Chairs scraped violently against the cream marble floors as the guests practically scrambled to their feet. There were no polite farewells, no lingering handshakes. Men in tailored suits and women in evening gowns fled the bright, elegant room with frantic urgency, eager to escape the blast radius of Adrian Kensington’s wrath.
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Within ninety seconds, the expansive dining hall was completely empty, save for Adrian, Lucinda, and Lydia. The heavy mahogany doors slammed shut, sealing the room and locking Lucinda inside with her greatest nightmare.
"Did you truly believe you could run an execution operation against my family and remain standing at my table?" Adrian asked, turning his terrifying focus entirely back to the woman in the satin gown.
