Chapter 6
Two massive security guards in dark suits entered the luminous dining room. Their expressions were entirely blank, their American accents absent as they marched forward without a word. They grabbed Marina by the arms, hauling her roughly to her feet. She shrieked, thrashing wildly against their iron grip, but they were unyielding.
"Will you remove the ring, Marina, or must I have my men cut it from your hand?" Cyrus asked smoothly, his cold, perceptive eyes completely devoid of mercy.
Trembling violently, completely stripped of her power and her future, Marina ripped the heavy diamond engagement ring from her finger. She threw it fiercely onto the polished walnut table. It struck a crystal wine glass with a sharp crack, spinning out of control before coming to rest near a flickering tall candle.
"You will regret this, Cyrus!" she screamed as they dragged her backward toward the doors. "You will all burn for this!"
"Will you convey my deepest regards to your father when I send him the pieces of his syndicate?" Cyrus asked quietly.
He did not answer her further screams. He watched in silence as the heavy oak doors slammed shut behind her, severing the alliance and guaranteeing a bloody mafia war. The room was finally quiet again, the only sound the gentle crackle of the carved marble fireplace.
Cyrus stood alone near the head table for a long moment, his broad shoulders rising and falling with a slow, controlled breath. The betrayal was absolute, the upcoming syndicate war with Marina’s father inevitable, but the immediate, toxic sickness within his home had been surgically removed. Now, he had to secure his empire.
He turned his body, his polished leather shoes pivoting seamlessly on the thick rug, and walked toward the two figures remaining by the table.
Della was kneeling on the floor, holding Asa tightly in her arms. The sophisticated black maid dress contrasted sharply with the boy’s formal dinner jacket. Asa had buried his face in the crook of Della’s neck, his small body trembling from the shouting and the sudden violence of Marina’s removal. Della was gently stroking the child's hair, her softly oval face etched with deep, maternal relief.
Cyrus stopped beside them, his imposing, masculine frame casting a protective shadow over the housemaid and his son.
"Are you unharmed, Asa?" Cyrus asked, his deep voice softening significantly, losing its lethal, interrogative edge.
Asa turned his head, his fair, rosy cheeks stained with fresh tears. He looked at his father, his eyes searching for reassurance. "I'm sorry, Daddy. I didn't want to ruin the dinner."
"Would telling the truth to protect yourself ever be considered a crime in this house?" Cyrus asked, reaching out to gently cup his son’s cheek.
Asa sniffled, leaning into his father's large, tattooed hand. "No."
"Are you a brave boy?" Cyrus asked, his thumb brushing away a tear.
"Yes," Asa nodded, his small chin trembling.
Cyrus shifted his gaze to Della. The beautiful housemaid was watching him, her expressive brows drawn together in quiet empathy. She had risked her job, her safety, and her life by exposing the collar and standing against the fiancée of a mafia boss. The fierce loyalty she had displayed was a rare, precious commodity in Cyrus's dark, violent world.
"Are you in pain, Della?" Cyrus asked, his cold, perceptive eyes scanning her delicate features.
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"No, Mr. Langford," Della answered softly, her elegant posture unwavering even as she knelt on the floor. "I am perfectly fine."
"Will you take Asa up to the secure wing and stay with him until I come for him?" Cyrus asked, holding her gaze with an intensity that sent a sudden, warm flutter through Della’s chest.
