Chapter 6
The close-up held on Nathaniel’s face. His cold, observant eyes lingered on Elodie for a brief, heartbreaking moment. He absorbed the sheer terror radiating from his daughter, the innocent child who had been manipulated into committing an act of violence out of fear for her own safety. The rigid lines of his angular face softened by a fraction of a millimeter toward her, a silent promise of absolute protection.
Then, his eyes slowly shifted.
His head followed slightly as his gaze moved across the gold-rimmed porcelain and crystal stemware, locking directly onto Vivian. His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly, the muscles flexing beneath his extremely short stubble.
He held her gaze in complete, terrifying silence.
The end of the visual prompt suspended the room in this agonizing, cold, unwavering stare. The bright, luminous colors of the dining hall felt like a harsh interrogation spotlight, offering Vivian no place to hide.
"Are you calling my blood a liar in front of the entire commission?" Nathaniel finally asked.
"Nathaniel, please, you have to understand," Vivian stammered, her American accent trembling uncontrollably as she backed away from the table. "She is just a child! She misunderstood me! I was only trying to teach her that appearances matter! The maid's hair was unruly!"
"Does unruly hair warrant a butcher's treatment?" Nathaniel inquired, his deep voice carrying a terrifying, unyielding authority.
"She was flaunting herself!" Vivian cried, tears of panic and frustration finally spilling over her fair cheeks, ruining her pristine makeup. "She acts like she belongs here! Like she is the mother of that child! I am your fiancée! I am the lady of this house! I had to assert control!"
"Do you believe control is established by terrorizing a seven-year-old girl?" Nathaniel asked smoothly.
He didn't wait for her pathetic, scrambling answer. He slowly turned his head, his gaze sweeping over the silent, paralyzed guests. The refined artistic tattoos on his neck shifted as he addressed the entirety of the syndicate.
"Have we not celebrated enough for one evening?" Nathaniel inquired, his voice carrying effortlessly to the back of the room.
May you like
The question was rhetorical, a lethal command disguised as an inquiry. The guests immediately understood the dismissal. Chairs scraped softly against the polished marble floors as the elite of the underworld rose in unison. There were no murmurs of protest, no prolonged goodbyes. The men and women simply nodded respectfully toward the head of the table and began a swift, silent exodus toward the grand foyer.
Within ninety seconds, the massive, opulent room was entirely empty of guests. The only people remaining were Nathaniel, Alma, Elodie, Vivian, and a dozen heavily armed, white American security guards standing quietly in the shadows near the heavy silk curtains.
