Chapter 5
The vast dining hall was suddenly cavernous and echoing, stripped of its festive energy. The towering Christmas tree, with its burgundy ribbons and warm fairy lights, stood as a mocking backdrop to the grim scene unfolding. The scent of evergreen garlands mingled with the metallic tang of pure fear radiating from the woman in the emerald gown.
Elias Mercer remained completely still, his tailored dark suit a fortress of restrained violence. Behind him, Vera clutched Noah's small hand, her protective instincts overriding her trembling fear. The boy held tightly to the housemaid, seeking refuge against her black uniform.
"You are making a massive mistake, Elias," Delia warned, though her voice shook violently. She backed away from the table, her high heels clicking erratically against the cream marble columns. "My family is the only thing keeping the northern syndicates from invading your territory. If you touch me, my father will burn this estate to the ground."
"Do you believe your father will wage a war for a daughter who attempted to murder a pregnant woman?" Elias asked, taking a slow, measured step toward her. "Or do you think he will realize you are a liability who nearly cost him his most profitable alliance?"
"She is nothing!" Delia screamed, pointing a shaking, diamond-clad finger at Vera. "She is a maid! I am your equal! I was securing our future! A bastard child from the help would make you look weak to the commission!"
"Is weakness defined by protecting one's blood, Delia?" Elias inquired, taking another deliberate step forward. "Or is true weakness the cowardice of a woman who pushes an unsuspecting girl down a flight of stairs?"
"I should have made sure she fell!" Delia shrieked, entirely losing her polished facade, the ugly, vicious truth finally tearing through her aristocratic veneer. "I should have broken her neck!"
Elias stopped. The very air in the room seemed to drop below freezing. The small artistic tattoo above his collar shifted as his jaw locked into unyielding granite.
"Marcus," Elias said, his voice quiet but echoing powerfully through the empty hall.
From the shadows of the service entrance, Marcus, the towering, heavily scarred underboss, emerged. He was flanked by two massive enforcers, their hands resting casually but purposefully on the grips of concealed weapons beneath their dark suits. They moved with silent, lethal efficiency, completely ignoring the opulent surroundings.
"Yes, Boss," Marcus grunted, stopping a few feet from Delia.
"Take her," Elias commanded softly, not taking his cold, unwavering stare off his former fiancée.
"No! No, please!" Delia shrieked as the two enforcers lunged forward, grabbing her roughly by the arms. The luxurious emerald fabric of her gown tore audibly as she thrashed against their iron grips. "Elias, I'm sorry! I was jealous! Please, don't do this!"
"Take her to the holding cells in the sub-basement," Elias continued, completely unaffected by her frantic pleading. "Ensure she is secured. We will discuss the terms of her return to her father once I have verified her family had no knowledge of this."
"You can't lock me in a cell! I am a Cross!" Delia screamed hysterically as the men began dragging her across the marble floor toward the heavy doors.
"You are nothing but a prisoner in my house," Elias replied, turning his back on her entirely.
Delia's screams faded down the long, echoing corridor as the heavy mahogany doors closed behind her. The immediate threat was gone, leaving a heavy, profound silence in its wake.
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Elias stood motionless for a long moment. He let out a slow, controlled breath, the rigid tension in his broad shoulders relaxing by a fraction of an inch. He turned around, his dark eyes seeking the two people standing near the head of the banquet table.
Vera was kneeling on the floor, holding Noah tightly in her arms. The little boy was burying his face in her shoulder, overwhelmed by the sudden violence and shouting. Vera looked up at Elias, her expressive eyes filled with a mixture of raw terror and undeniable relief.
