Chapter 5
Penny took a step forward, her tiny boots tapping on the marble floor. She looked up at Sienna, entirely proud of her participation in the clandestine activity.
"Auntie, I hid your treasure!" Penny announced happily.
The childish, clear American accent sliced through the sophisticated chatter of the salon with the devastating force of a detonating bomb.
The words echoed off the gilded mirrors, drawing the immediate, shocked attention of every guest standing nearby. The innocent joy in the toddler's voice instantly shattered the meticulously crafted narrative of theft that Sienna had just presented to the room.
Sienna froze. She stared down at the three-year-old girl, the pearl-and-ruby brooch suddenly feeling like burning coals in her palm. Her concerned public expression remained glued to her lips, but it became a rigid, grotesque mask as sheer, unadulterated panic set into her eyes.
Gareth Whitmore stopped moving entirely. His entire body went rigid beneath his tailored dark three-piece suit. He looked at his toddler daughter, processing the cheerful, innocent exclamation.
He stepped directly between Sienna and Megan.
The realization of the absolute, humiliating betrayal that had occurred in his home cemented itself in his calculating mind. His fiancée had not only attempted to frame an innocent member of his staff, but she had weaponized his own three-year-old daughter to execute the malicious plot.
The physical intervention was profound. The effect on the room was instantaneous and absolute.
The sheer, commanding presence of the mafia boss stripped away the festive atmosphere of the Christmas reception in a heartbeat. Every single guest standing near the evergreen garlands stopped eating and speaking. Champagne flutes were lowered slowly back to polished walnut consoles. The polite, affluent conversation died entirely in their throats, replaced by a suffocating, terrified vacuum.
Fifty faces turned toward the towering Christmas tree, their fair skin paling as they watched Gareth Whitmore.
Gareth did not yell. He did not explode. The absolute stillness of his muscular, masculine frame was infinitely more dangerous than any outburst of rage.
May you like
Sienna, feeling the suffocating weight of his presence, immediately released Megan’s forearm. She pulled her hand back against her champagne satin gown, the rubies on her ears trembling violently.
Gareth did not look at his fiancée. He turned his broad shoulders and looked steadily at Megan. He saw her unnatural posture, her rumpled apron, and her crooked white ruffled headband. He saw the disheveled strands of her hair framing her pale face, and the sheer, paralyzing terror in her clear, expressive eyes.
