Chapter 7
The silence in the grand dining hall was absolute, a heavy, oppressive weight that smothered the bright, airy elegance of the room. The cascading crystal chandeliers continued to bathe the ivory-paneled walls in a soft, elegant warmth, but the atmosphere had turned as cold as a morgue.
Vivian was completely isolated, standing alone opposite the unified front of the Rook patriarch and the brave housemaid.
"You can't do this, Nathaniel," Vivian hissed, panic mutating into cornered, vicious entitlement. "My family brings the southern ports to this alliance. If you humiliate me, my father will declare war. He will shut down your supply lines."
"Will he declare war?" Nathaniel asked, tilting his head with dangerous curiosity. The loose strands of wavy hair falling over his forehead contrasted violently with the absolute, apocalyptic death promised in his cold eyes. "Or will he thank me for returning his defective, cruel daughter before she caused a war he could not possibly win?"
Vivian’s mouth dropped open. The color drained entirely from her lips. She realized she had absolutely no power left in the room. The alliance was dead, severed by her own psychopathic jealousy.
"Get your hands off me!" Vivian screamed as two massive men in tailored dark suits stepped forward and grabbed her by the arms. She thrashed wildly, her sculpted satin gown twisting awkwardly around her legs. "You are choosing a servant and a spoiled brat over a queen! You are a fool, Nathaniel!"
"Are empires built by men who allow their children to be threatened in their own homes?" Nathaniel inquired, entirely unaffected by her venom.
He turned his back on her, an ultimate gesture of dismissal. Vivian's furious, terrified screams echoed through the bright, airy room as she was dragged away, fading only when the heavy double doors slammed shut.
Nathaniel turned his full attention back to the beautiful housemaid and the little girl. The cold, terrifying edge of the Mafia boss softened considerably as he looked down at little Elodie.
The seven-year-old girl was crying softly, burying her face into Alma's white apron, having dropped the severed braid onto the floor.
Nathaniel slowly dropped to one knee, entirely disregarding his tailored dark three-piece suit. He brought himself down to the child's eye level. He reached out with his heavily tattooed hand, his fingers moving with profound, unexpected gentleness. He gently brushed a tear from Elodie's fair, rosy cheek.
"Are you safe now, little bird?" Nathaniel asked, his deep voice returning to a warm, comforting rumble.
May you like
Elodie sniffled, looking at the tall, imposing man with wide, innocent eyes. She nodded slowly, clinging tighter to Alma.
"Did you show more bravery tonight than half the men in my syndicate?" Nathaniel asked softly, offering a rare, subtle smile that completely transformed his handsome, angular face.
