Chapter 3
The cascading crystal chandeliers continued to bathe the room in their bright, airy light, but the engagement dinner had fundamentally shattered. The guests remained paralyzed in their champagne velvet 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.
Marina stared up at Cyrus, her fair, rosy skin completely translucent. She gripped the fabric of her sculpted satin evening gown, her hands shaking violently.
"Are you struggling to find a suitable lie, Marina?" Cyrus finally asked.
His deep, low voice remained completely level. The measured pause between his words was a calculated instrument of psychological torture. He did not step toward her, but the sheer gravity of his masculine presence pressed her against the wall.
"Cyrus, darling, please," Marina gasped, her American accent pitching high and breathless with panic. "He is just a child! He misunderstood! He was running away from his tutors, misbehaving constantly! I was just trying to teach him discipline! It was set to the lowest setting!"
"Does torturing my bloodline seem like an effective method of discipline?" Cyrus inquired, his perceptive eyes narrowing into cold slits.
"She put him up to this!" Marina cried, tears of sheer desperation welling in her eyes. She pointed a shaking, diamond-adorned finger at the housemaid. "She wants to ruin our evening! She has been trying to poison him against me since the day I moved in! You cannot believe a servant over your future wife!"
Della held her ground, her graceful posture unwavering despite the terror hammering in her chest. She instinctively wrapped her arm around Asa, pulling the crying boy securely against her black maid dress, shielding him from the socialite's venomous panic.
"Would my son fabricate a nightmare to destroy the foundation of this family?" Cyrus asked, his voice echoing coldly off the ivory wall panels.
"Yes!" Marina 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.
Cyrus slowly swept his gaze across the room, taking in the numerous guests sitting frozen at their polished walnut tables.
"Have you all finished your meals?" Cyrus 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 polished hardwood and 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 Cyrus Langford’s wrath.
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Within ninety seconds, the expansive dining hall was completely empty, save for Cyrus, Marina, Della, and Asa. The heavy mahogany doors slammed shut, sealing the room and locking Marina inside with her greatest nightmare.
"Did you think I would never find out what you were doing behind my back?" Cyrus asked, turning his terrifying focus entirely back to the woman in the satin gown.
