Chapter 2 - The Trial in the Drawing Room
Upstairs in the grand drawing room, Victoria Kensington was frantically packing her diamond earrings into an ostrich-skin clutch when the double doors swung open.
She didn't turn around immediately, assuming it was one of the maids.
“Call my father’s driver,” Victoria snapped, her voice trembling slightly. “Tell him I’m leaving this barbaric house. Leo has lost his mind, and if he thinks he can intimidate me—”
“Victoria.”
She froze.
Leo stood in the doorway. He hadn't taken off his black coat. He hadn't washed the dust of the cellar off his shoes. He walked into the center of the Persian rug, his hands tucked casually into his pockets—a posture that made Mateo, standing by the door, slide his hand away from his holster because Leo didn't need a gun right now.
Victoria forced a brittle, nervous laugh, turning to face him. “Oh, darling. Thank goodness. You need to fire that maid immediately. She attacked me, she’s completely unhinged, and—”
“You locked her in the dark,” Leo said softly.
Victoria blinked. “What?”
“My daughter. Six years old. Suffering from bronchial asthma. You locked her in a stone cellar without her medication.”
“She threw a tantrum!” Victoria shrieked, her aristocratic composure finally cracking completely, revealing the ugly, desperate panic underneath. “She was defying me! I am going to be the mistress of this house, Leo! You can't let a servant—a fat, pathetic servant—dictate how I manage your family!”
Leo didn't raise his voice. He didn't shout.
He walked across the room, stopping two feet away from her. He was taller than her by a foot, broad-shouldered and radiating an aura of absolute, terrifying lethality.
“You were never going to be the mistress of this house,” Leo said. “I brought you here because my advisers thought an alliance with the Kensington shipping lanes would stabilize the northern ports. I thought you had the maturity to at least tolerate my child.”
“Leo, please—” Victoria’s hand reached out to touch his chest.
He caught her wrist.
He didn't squeeze hard—not yet—but Victoria winced as if her bones were cracking.
“The Kensington shipping lanes are currently being audited by my tax attorneys,” Leo whispered, his face inches from hers. “By morning, your father’s accounts will be frozen. By tomorrow night, every asset your family owns will belong to the Rossi Trust. You are broke, Victoria. You are homeless. And if you ever breathe the name of my daughter or Beatrice Miller again—”
He released her wrist so violently she stumbled backward against the mahogany cocktail table, sending crystal decanters crashing to the floor.
“Mateo,” Leo called out without looking back.
“Boss?”
May you like
“Escort Ms. Kensington off the property. Leave her at the outer gates. Without her bags. Without her phone. Let her see how the world treats people who don't have a key.”
“Gladly,” Mateo smiled.
