Chapter 6
The luminous, airy warmth of the dining room offered no solace to the woman kneeling on the patterned rug. Camilla sobbed uncontrollably, her face buried in her manicured hands, her diamond engagement ring catching the bright light in a mocking display of failed ambition. The silence stretched, tight and unforgiving, broken only by her ragged, panicked weeping.
Soren stood over her, an imposing monolith of masculine power. His polished leather shoes rested mere inches from the hem of her ruined silk gown. He waited, his patience a weapon as sharp and precise as a scalpel.
"Are you prepared to tell me exactly who you gave my son to, or must I call my interrogators to assist you?" Soren asked, his deep voice carrying a measured, lethal calm.
Camilla flinched violently at the threat. She dropped her hands, her fair skin streaked with ruined makeup, her eyes wide with primal terror. She knew the stories of what Soren Blackwell did to traitors within his syndicate.
"It was Marcus Thorne!" Camilla choked out, the venom finally breaking through her tears as self-preservation took over. "He is a fixer for the eastern syndicate! He was supposed to take the baby across the state line to an orphanage! I swear on my life, he was instructed not to harm him!"
Elodie gasped softly, her hand flying to cover her mouth. The sheer, calculated magnitude of the betrayal was staggering. Camilla wasn't just a cruel woman; she had handed the heir of the Blackwell empire over to a notorious underworld operative.
Soren did not react physically. His high-bridged nose and sharply defined jawline remained locked in a mask of cold composure. But behind his perceptive eyes, a dark, violent calculus was rapidly computing the depth of the immediate danger to his son.
"Did you believe that giving my blood to a mercenary would allow your father to absorb my territory without a war?" Soren asked quietly.
"We were just trying to secure our future!" Camilla pleaded, reaching out to grasp the leg of his tailored trousers. "I was trying to protect myself, Soren! If I didn't do it, my father would have disowned me!"
Soren looked down at the trembling woman clinging to his leg. He felt absolutely nothing for her. The affection he had feigned for the sake of the syndicate merger evaporated instantly, leaving behind a cold, calculating void that craved only survival and retribution.
"Do you expect me to harbor a treacherous kidnapper under my roof?" Soren asked.
He didn't wait for her to answer. He reached down with his artistic, tattooed hands and forcefully peeled her fingers off his suit. He stepped back, severing all physical contact with her forever.
"Is there any reason I shouldn't have my men escort you to the basement holding cells immediately?" Soren inquired, adjusting the cuffs of his shirt with immaculate precision.
"Soren, please, you can't!" Camilla wept, crawling forward on her knees. "My father will kill you when he finds out the engagement is broken! He will burn this city to the ground to avenge me!"
"Are the consequences of your treason my concern?" Soren asked.
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He reached into his jacket and retrieved a sleek, encrypted smartphone. He dialed a single digit and pressed the phone to his ear. The small neck tattoo shifted seamlessly with the movement.
"Will you send a security detail to the grand dining room?" Soren asked into the receiver. "Will you ensure Miss Vane is escorted to the holding cells beneath the east wing immediately?"
