Chapter 3
The sound of Alexander's heavy oak chair scraping against the hardwood floor silenced the immediate vicinity. One by one, the elite guests stopped talking. The clatter of silverware against china died away. The massive dining room, previously filled with the raucous energy of the American underworld's most powerful players, fell into an absolute, breathless hush. Every capo, every politician, and every bodyguard in the room turned their attention toward the head of the table.
Alexander stood up to his full, towering height. His broad shoulders blocked the light from the nearest chandelier, casting a long, intimidating shadow over Meredith.
He didn't yell. He didn't issue threats. The terrifying aura of the Mafia boss was rooted in his absolute, unhurried control of his environment. He stepped smoothly away from his own seat and walked slowly around the back of Emily’s small chair.
Beside Emily was an empty chair, originally intended for a lieutenant who had been delayed in transit. Alexander reached out with his tattooed hand, gripped the top rail of the chair, and pulled it directly away from the table. He dragged it smoothly over the floor until it sat right beside his three-year-old daughter.
He turned his cold, penetrating eyes onto the barefoot maid.
"Anna," Alexander commanded quietly, his deep voice carrying effortlessly across the silent room. "Sit beside her."
Anna’s breath hitched audibly. She stared at the empty chair, then up at Alexander, absolute panic flooding her heart-shaped face. For a housemaid to sit at a formal banquet table, especially beside the boss's daughter during a gathering of made men, was a profound violation of protocol. It was a gesture that elevated her status in a way that would instantly infuriate Meredith.
"Sir, I couldn't," Anna whispered, her voice trembling. "I have to serve the coffee. I shouldn't—"
"Sit down, Anna," Alexander repeated, his tone leaving absolutely no room for debate or refusal.
Meredith’s fair skin flushed a furious shade of crimson. "Alexander, what are you doing? She is the help. She belongs in the kitchen, not at my table."
Alexander completely ignored his fiancée. He stood like an immovable pillar between Anna and Meredith, forming a physical barrier of tailored wool and masculine power. He held Anna's terrified gaze, waiting.
Slowly, her hands shaking violently, Anna lowered the silver tray onto a nearby sideboard. She limped forward slightly, favoring her bandaged heel, and sat carefully on the very edge of the plush dining chair. She kept her knees pressed tightly together, trying to hide her bare feet, frantically blinking back the hot tears that threatened to spill over her lashes.
Emily immediately let go of Anna's apron and grabbed the maid's hand instead, interlacing her tiny fingers with Anna's trembling ones.
Alexander remained standing between them, a lethal sentinel. He looked down at the beautiful, barefoot woman sitting at his table. He saw the genuine fear in her eyes, but he also saw the fierce, maternal protection she offered his child.
"Now," Alexander said, his voice dropping an octave, settling into a deadly, vibrating hum. He kept his eyes locked on Anna. "Tell me exactly what happened before this dinner started."
Anna swallowed hard, feeling the crushing weight of fifty pairs of eyes burning into her. She could feel Meredith's murderous glare boring into the side of her head.
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"Tell him nothing, Anna," Meredith snapped, her polished facade finally cracking. "Or you can pack your bags tonight."
"If you interrupt her again, Meredith," Alexander stated without looking at her, "I will have my men escort you out of this house."
