Chapter 5
The question hung in the bright, luminous air of the ballroom, a death sentence waiting to be executed. Cressida gasped for breath, her hands trembling as she clutched the pearls at her throat. She looked up at her nephew, the mocking arrogance entirely stripped from her aging face. She saw the absolute, terrifying stillness in his posture, the way his cold, observant eyes locked onto her with predatory intent.
"Are you going to answer me, Cressida, or shall I start extracting the truth from your guards?" Soren asked, his measured words slicing through the heavy silence.
Cressida’s eyes darted wildly around the room. She looked at the guests, hoping for an intervention, but the elite crowd shrank back, recognizing that the true king of the syndicate had just reclaimed his throne. Panic completely overtook her logic. Instinctively, involuntarily, her eyes darted away from Soren and fixed directly upon the polished brass doors of the private elevator at the far end of the ballroom.
It was a micro-expression, a fleeting glance, but to a man who had survived a lifetime in the criminal underworld, it was a glowing neon sign.
Soren noticed. He followed her line of sight to the closed elevator doors, the pieces of the puzzle snapping together with violent clarity. The penthouse suite. The only floor in the mansion he had avoided for six months because it was where he and his wife had lived.
"Are they in the penthouse?" Soren asked, his jaw tightening so hard the small neck tattoo shifted against his skin. "Have you kept my family caged above my head this entire time?"
Cressida swallowed hard, refusing to answer.
"Grab him!" Cressida finally shrieked, finding her voice and pointing a shaking finger at Soren. "He’s unstable! Put him down!"
The two bodyguards—the Black American and the white American—hesitated. They looked at the mafia boss, then at the frantic woman in the chair. They drew their weapons, stepping forward, but the absolute lack of fear in Soren's eyes made them pause.
"Do you men truly believe you can pull your triggers before my loyalists in this room pull theirs?" Soren asked, his deep voice carrying a terrifying authority. "Are you ready to die for a woman who hides behind stolen children?"
The bodyguards glanced at the crowd. Several men in tailored suits had already unbuttoned their jackets, their hands resting on concealed holsters, waiting for Soren's command. The balance of power had irrevocably shifted.
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Verity remained steadfast beside him, her hand still holding the clean white napkin, her knuckles white.
"Will you walk with me to the elevator, Verity?" Soren asked, not taking his eyes off the guards. "Do you think these men will dare to stand in our way?"
