Chapter 6
The realization that the mafia boss had intervened radiated outward from Dorian Thorne like a physical shockwave. The sheer, masculine power emanating from his broad shoulders was intoxicating and terrifying all at once. The clinking of fine porcelain ceased entirely within his immediate radius, the silence spreading down the long salon until it consumed the entire grand space.
One by one, every single dinner guest stopped eating and speaking. Fifty of the most dangerous men and women in the city turned their heads, their fair, rosy faces illuminated by the ivory candles, all staring toward the Christmas tree. The warm golden light cascading from the chandeliers highlighted the sudden, suffocating tension that had gripped the syndicate.
Dorian did not look at the elite guests, nor did he immediately look at his polished fiancée standing nearby. He looked down at his three-year-old son, taking in the sight of the boy clutching a strange, beige, fabric-covered cushion with straps.
Then, Dorian slowly turned his head. His dark, sweeping gaze locked directly onto Aria. He saw the dark, puffy shadows of profound exhaustion under her clear, expressive eyes, the crooked white ruffled headband, and the red, angry marks forming on her wrist where Serena had grabbed her.
The pieces of a horrifying puzzle began to snap together in his mind. The missing maid, the aggressive fiancée, the strange object in his son's hands.
"Dorian, darling, it is nothing," Serena interjected quickly, attempting to assert her authority and dismiss the tension. Her polished smile strained violently at the edges. "The maid is simply confused, and Owen took something from my room. You shouldn't make a scene during our Christmas reception."
Dorian did not even turn his head to acknowledge Serena. His unwavering, intense focus remained entirely on the young, trembling woman standing beside him.
"Aria," Dorian said.
His voice was deep, slow, and incredibly controlled, but it carried a lethal, apocalyptic authority that shook the very foundation of the room. He allowed a terrifying, measured pause to stretch out, letting the weight of the moment crush the air from the room, before he finished his command.
"What is that?"
The question hung in the bright, luminous air, demanding an answer that would dictate the survival of everyone standing near the 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 Dorian's frame promised absolute destruction if he was lied to.
Aria stood paralyzed, her delicate features pale with shock. She 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 her and the little boy she cared for, or it would seal her death warrant.
Tears gathered heavily along Aria’s lower eyelids, making her expressive eyes shine brilliantly in the golden light. She steadied a trembling breath, her chest rising and falling rapidly against her rumpled white apron.
May you like
She held Dorian's gaze, refusing to look away, drawing on a well of courage she didn't know she possessed.
"A fake belly," Aria stated, her voice incredibly quiet, yet carrying a devastating, undeniable truth that sliced through the silent room. "Serena wears it."
