Chapter 6
The camera angle shifted to a close-up of Oliver. The cinematic, slightly warm white balance of the lighting caught the tears welling in the little boy’s eyes. His formal shirt and small vest made him look like a miniature adult, but the pure, unadulterated fear on his face belonged entirely to a child.
Oliver looked directly up into Alexander’s cold, perceptive eyes. He had been taught that the Mafia world his father controlled was unforgiving, and he fully expected the terrifying wrath of the room to fall squarely upon his small shoulders.
“I called her Mommy,” Oliver confessed.
His high, fragile voice broke the heavy silence of the dining hall.
“I’m sorry,” the four-year-old added, his lower lip trembling violently. Tears finally spilled over his lashes, cutting clean paths down his fair, rosy cheeks. He waited, his small body tensing, fully prepared to be blamed for the horrific punishment his beloved caregiver had endured.
The revelation dropped into the room with devastating clarity. The guests stared in absolute shock. Vivienne hadn't locked the maid in a freezer for insubordination or theft; she had tortured a woman because a motherless child had sought comfort in her arms.
Alexander’s expression did not harden. He did not reprimand his son.
Instead, Alexander reached down. His large, tattooed hand moved with profound, unexpected gentleness. He completely covered Oliver’s small, trembling hand, which was still clutching his shirt sleeve. He squeezed it reassuringly, a silent, absolute promise of protection.
"Do you think you need to apologize for loving the woman who cares for you?" Alexander asked softly, his deep voice dropping into a register of warm, paternal comfort, perfectly adhering to his unique speech pattern. "Should a child ever be punished for seeking a mother's warmth?"
Oliver sniffled, shaking his head slowly, finding an anchor in his father's steadfast grip.
Alexander kept his hand firmly over his son's. Slowly, mechanically, he turned his head. The warmth vanished entirely from his features. He fixed a cold, knowing, and absolutely lethal stare directly upon Vivienne.
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"Was a four-year-old's affection so threatening to your ego?" Alexander asked.
The close-up shifted back to Vivienne. Her defensive, tight smile disappeared completely. The sheer, psychopathic jealousy of her actions was now fully exposed to the entire syndicate. The bright, luminous colors of the room felt like a harsh interrogation spotlight. She opened her mouth, her lips parting as she desperately searched for a justification, but the sheer, overwhelming menace radiating from the head of the table paralyzed her vocal cords entirely.
