Chapter 4
The cinematic, golden light of the chandeliers seemed to sharpen and focus entirely on the mahogany wrapping table. Mara’s breath hitched in her throat as she saw the mafia boss approaching. The sheer physical presence of Roman Ashford was overwhelming, his dark, commanding aura pulling the gravity of the room with him.
She desperately tried to keep her left arm still, hiding her hand beneath the table to prevent the telltale jingle of the hidden bell.
"Jude, you shouldn't bother the staff while they are working," Camille called out smoothly, arriving just a step behind Roman. Her voice was light and melodious, a perfect imitation of a caring maternal figure.
"I'm not bothering," Jude stated firmly, refusing to step away from the table.
Mara nervously shifted her weight. As she did, her left arm brushed against the underside of the mahogany table. The movement tugged at the short steel chain locked to the brass rail.
Jingle.
The small brass bell, disguised with its festive red ribbon, let out a bright, cheerful sound that echoed clearly in the immediate space.
Jude’s eyes widened with pure, unfiltered excitement. The toddler immediately noticed the little bell peeking out from beneath the white cuff of Mara’s rumpled sleeve. He pointed delightedly at Mara’s wrist, his tiny tan boots bouncing on the marble floor.
"Mommy’s bell!" Jude announced, his voice punctuated with little, breathless toddler pauses. "Me too!"
The childish, clear words sliced through the ambient noise of the salon with the devastating force of a detonating bomb. The word "Mommy" echoed off the cream marble columns, drawing the immediate, shocked attention of every guest standing nearby.
But it was the bell that made Camille's blood run completely cold.
Camille stepped forward instantly, her champagne satin gown rustling loudly. She looked directly at Jude, her eyes wide with a sudden, venomous panic. She realized that the toddler was about to expose the sadistic torture she had orchestrated.
She forced the muscles in her face to obey her frantic mind. A polished, artificial smile appeared on her lips, but it arrived a fraction of a second too late. The delay was microscopic, but to a man like Roman Ashford, it was as loud as a gunshot.
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"A servant’s bracelet," Camille stated smoothly, reaching out to gently push Jude's pointing hand down. "Don’t touch it, sweetheart. It's not a toy."
Mara sat paralyzed in her chair. Her expressive eyes widened in absolute terror as she looked at Camille, the sheer audacity of the lie stealing the breath from her lungs. She pulled her arm back slightly, and the bell jingled again, accompanied this time by the unmistakable, heavy scrape of industrial steel links dragging against a brass rail.
