Chapter 2
Dominic didn't raise his voice, nor did he make a sudden gesture, but the entire room felt the temperature drop below freezing. With slow, terrifying grace, he stood up from his chair. His luxury timepiece caught the deep blue light of the aquarium wall as he bent down, completely ignoring the surrounding guests, and immediately lifted Maya safely to her feet. He brushed the dust from her silver sequined dress with a gentleness that contrasted sharply with his violently dangerous reputation.
"I have you, little one," Dominic murmured softly, his tone carrying a deep, resonant warmth reserved exclusively for her. He wiped a stray tear from her warm brown cheek with his thumb. "Are you alright?"
"Yes, Grandpa," Maya sniffled, clinging tightly to the soft velvet of his midnight-blue jacket.
Cameron, Dominic’s thirty-six-year-old son and Maya’s father, stood nearby. Dressed in a sharp white dinner jacket, black bowtie, and polished oxfords, his fair and rosy skin was pale with nervous sweat. "Aunt Beatrice, that was entirely uncalled for," Cameron said, though his voice lacked the heavy, commanding authority of his father. "She's just a little girl."
Next to him stood Genevieve, Cameron’s thirty-two-year-old girlfriend, heavily pregnant beneath an extravagant ocean-blue silk maternity evening gown. "She's just a child, Beatrice," Genevieve added nervously, her pale hand resting protectively over her swollen belly. "There's no need to be so rough with her."
Yet, despite her grandfather's comforting embrace, Maya didn't look at Beatrice, nor did she look at her father. Instead, her big, innocent eyes locked onto Genevieve’s large pregnant belly. She tilted her head slightly, studying the unnatural rigidity of the silk fabric over Genevieve’s abdomen. Then, with absolute innocence, Maya pointed a small finger straight toward the private cloakroom tucked discreetly behind the aquarium viewing wall.
The silence in the lounge grew heavier, pregnant with an unspoken tension that made several gala guests step back involuntarily. Maya’s voice cut through the quiet, ringing out clear and piercing for everyone nearby to hear.
"Grandpa… her tummy is a pillow," Maya said innocently, her wide eyes blinking without a hint of malice.
Genevieve went completely still. "What? What are you talking about, sweetie?" she stammered, the color draining instantly from her face, leaving her fair skin chalk-white. She clutched her sapphire necklace as if seeking a lifeline.
"It's a pillow. Like the one in the closet," Maya insisted, pointing again toward the heavy wooden doors of the cloakroom.
Preston, Genevieve’s forty-year-old brother and a trusted mafia associate dressed in a classic black tuxedo with silk lapels, stiffened instantly. "The kid is talking nonsense. She hit her head when she fell," Preston argued loudly, taking an aggressive step forward. "Someone take her to the back room before she ruins the charity event."
"No one touches her," Dominic said, his voice a low, lethal hum that commanded immediate, absolute obedience from everyone in the room.
Cameron stared at his daughter in sheer bewilderment. "Maya, what pillow? What are you saying?"
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Beatrice scowled, stepping forward to silence the child. "This is exactly why she shouldn't be here. Making up lies to get attention. She's ruined the evening."
But Dominic raised a single, slow hand, halting everyone in their tracks. Without breaking eye contact with a trembling Genevieve, Dominic turned, walked toward the private cloakroom door, and slowly pulled it open.
