Chapter 3
Eleanor’s pale face flushed bright red with indignation. She tried to yank her wrist free, but Marcus’s grip was like iron.
"Let go of me, Marcus!" Eleanor hissed, reaching out with her free hand to grab Zariah again. "This is a matter of tradition!"
Marcus didn't flinch. He grabbed Eleanor firmly by both of her upper arms. With a sudden, explosive burst of strength, he lifted her slightly off her feet and forcefully pushed her backward. Eleanor stumbled wildly in her expensive heels before crashing hard against the closed, heavy oak kitchen doors.
Before she could even scream, two of Marcus’s personal bodyguards in crisp professional suits immediately stepped forward, forming an impenetrable human wall between the gasping older woman and the children.
Marcus slowly stepped up to the bodyguards, looking over their shoulders at his half-sister. The few loose strands of wavy hair fell perfectly over his forehead, completely at odds with the violent, predatory tension radiating from his body.
"You think tradition gives you the right to touch what is mine?" Marcus asked.
He spoke slowly, with highly controlled, agonizing pauses between his words. He kept his volume remarkably low, which only made the threat infinitely more terrifying. Every single syllable sounded measured, cold, and immensely dangerous.
"I am your elder!" Eleanor shrieked, clutching her bruised arms. "I protected this family before you were even born! You are poisoning our bloodline with these street orphans!"
Marcus tilted his head slightly, his sharply defined jawline clenching. The tattoos on his neck shifted as he leaned in closer to her.
"You want my daughter in the kitchen," Marcus growled through clenched teeth, his voice a lethal, vibrating bass, "and I want you in a nursing home."
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Eleanor’s face instantly became frightened. The arrogant fire in her eyes extinguished, replaced by the sudden, horrifying realization that she had pushed the young Boss too far.
"Get her out of my sight," Marcus ordered the bodyguards, his voice returning to that slow, icy whisper. "If she steps foot on my property again, shoot her in the knees."
