Chapter 7
Amara backed away until her spine hit the edge of the carved marble fireplace. The bright, luminous light of the room offered her no place to hide. She looked wildly around the empty dining hall, desperately seeking an exit that did not exist.
"I was doing it for you!" Amara cried out, her voice pitching an octave higher as her panic set in. "You demand perfection in this house! She cried all the time! She was soft! You are a king, Everett! You cannot be tied to a woman who trembles at the sound of a gunshot!"
"Do you believe you have the right to decide what I require in a wife?" Everett asked, his deep voice remaining terrifyingly calm, completely devoid of the hysteria radiating from the woman before him.
He didn't wait for her to process the absolute lack of mercy in his gaze. He reached into the inner pocket of his tailored dark suit, his refined artistic tattoos catching the golden light, and withdrew a heavy, encrypted mobile phone.
"Are you waiting in the grand foyer, Marcus?" Everett asked into the receiver. He paused, listening to his unseen underboss. "Will you bring two men into the dining room immediately?"
Amara gasped, her hands flying to her mouth in sheer, unadulterated terror. She knew exactly what Marcus did for the Crowne family. He was the man who made Everett’s problems disappear into the icy depths of the river.
"No! Everett, please!" Amara shrieked, kicking off her expensive heels and scrambling backward across the hardwood floor. "You can't do this! I am a Voss! My family will kill you! My father will slaughter your entire syndicate for this!"
The heavy mahogany double doors of the dining room swung open violently. Marcus, a towering man with a heavily scarred face and a dark trench coat, stepped into the room, flanked by two equally intimidating enforcers. They moved with absolute, silent precision, ignoring the lavish surroundings and focusing entirely on their boss.
"Will you escort my former fiancée to the holding cells in the sub-basement?" Everett asked, not taking his eyes off the weeping woman backed against the fireplace.
"No! No, please!" Amara shrieked, kicking and thrashing wildly as the two enforcers reached out and grabbed her by the arms. They hauled her to her feet with effortless strength, the delicate fabric of her sculpted satin gown tearing audibly at the seams. "I loved you, Everett! You owe me! I saved you from weakness!"
"Will you ensure she is gagged if she continues to scream, Marcus?" Everett inquired, casually adjusting the cuff of his dark suit.
Marcus nodded grimly. "Yes, boss. Let's go, princess."
The enforcers dragged Amara backward toward the doors. Her threats devolved into hysterical, panicked sobs that echoed down the grand hallway until the heavy doors clicked shut behind them, sealing the dining room in a profound, suffocating silence once more.
Everett stood perfectly still for a long moment. The tension slowly bled out of his powerful shoulders. He turned his head, his thick, slightly wavy hair catching the light of the crystal chandeliers, and looked across the room to where Juliet was standing, supported by Celia.
Everett walked slowly back across the room. He stopped a few feet away from his wife, his cold eyes softening completely as he took in her pale, exhausted face and the worn cardigan wrapped around her slender frame.
"Are you harmed anywhere else, Juliet?" Everett asked, his deep voice cracking slightly, losing the lethal edge it had carried moments before.
"I'm just so cold, Everett," Juliet whispered, tears finally spilling over her cheeks as she stepped forward, throwing her arms around his neck.
"Would I ever stop searching if I had known you were still breathing?" Everett asked, burying his face in her hair, holding her in a fierce, bone-crushing embrace. He closed his eyes, fighting back the wave of agonizing guilt that threatened to drown him.
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He held her for a long time before gently pulling back, keeping one powerful arm securely around her waist. He turned his attention back to Celia, who was standing quietly by the velvet chair, her hands folded over her white apron.
"Are you injured, Celia?" Everett asked quietly, his perceptive eyes searching her delicately featured face.
