Chapter 3
Dominic’s reaction was terrifying in its absolute, unhurried control. He didn't slap Vivienne’s hand away. He didn't raise his voice. He simply extended his arm, covering the small silver key entirely with his broad, tattooed palm just a fraction of a second before Vivienne’s manicured fingers could reach it.
Vivienne’s hand hovered awkwardly over his, her perfectly painted lips parting in silent shock. The elite guests, high-ranking capos, and wealthy politicians sitting at the sprawling mahogany table suddenly realized that the atmosphere had turned to ice. Conversations died mid-sentence. Forks were lowered slowly to porcelain plates. Every single guest stopped eating and speaking, turning their undivided attention toward the head of the table.
Dominic didn't look at his fiancée. He slowly lifted his hand, picking up the small key between his thumb and forefinger. He examined it for a long, agonizing moment.
"Why would a housemaid steal a key she cannot use?" Dominic asked. The question rolled off his tongue like poison, directed entirely at the room at large.
He slowly turned his head, his cold, perceptive eyes locking directly onto Nora. The beautiful maid was standing frozen beside his chair, the cinematic lighting catching the subtle trembling of her expressive brows.
"Nora," Dominic commanded, his deep voice low, deliberate, and impossible to ignore. "What does it open?"
Nora’s breath hitched audibly in her throat. The question was a guillotine waiting to drop. She could feel the heavy, murderous glare of Vivienne boring into the side of her head. If she spoke the truth, she was declaring war against the future wife of a Mafia boss. If she lied, she was abandoning the helpless elderly woman locked in the dark upstairs.
She looked down at her bandaged right wrist, remembering the violent, bruising grip Vivienne had used when she caught Nora trying to unlock the heavy cuffs.
Nora slowly raised her gaze, holding Dominic’s terrifying stare. The barrier between employer and servant vanished entirely in that look. Her expressive inner brows lifted helplessly, conveying a deep, profound sadness. Tears gathered rapidly in her eyes, catching the luminous lighting of the room, and her chin began to tremble uncontrollably.
"The cuff around your mother’s ankle," Nora whispered.
Her voice was thin and breathless, breaking the silence of the dining room like shattering glass. She cradled her injured wrist tighter against her apron, visibly frightened of what speaking that sentence was going to cost her.
The words struck the table with the devastating force of a physical blow. The air in the room seemed to shatter. Capos who had spent their lives dealing in violence stiffened in their velvet chairs. Restraining the elderly mother of the boss, treating her like an animal, was an act of profound insanity.
"What did you say?" a capo muttered quietly from down the table, his hand instinctively moving closer to his concealed weapon.
Dominic didn't react immediately. He stood perfectly still, absorbing the crushing weight of the maid's terrified confession. The cinematic light caught the fine, artistic tattoos on his neck as he slowly, deliberately turned his head.
His cold, penetrating gaze shifted away from Nora and locked directly onto Vivienne.
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"Is this a joke?" Dominic asked softly.
Vivienne Shaw pushed her chair back violently, the sculpted satin evening gown rustling loudly in the dead silence. "Dominic, she is lying! She is a disgruntled employee trying to ruin our engagement! Your mother is resting comfortably upstairs!"
