His Fiancée Poured Hot Tea on the Maid in Front of Him—Then the Mafia Boss Took Off His Ring
The black titanium ring sat on the white tablecloth like a drop of oil on pristine snow.
Camille stared at it, her chest rising and falling beneath her silk dress. For a long, agonizing moment, the only sound in the grand dining room was the frantic, shallow breathing of Elena Brooks, who still gripped her burned arm near the sideboard.
"Gabriel, don't be ridiculous," Camille said, forcing a tight, artificial laugh that cracked at the edges. She reached out to touch his arm, but he took a single, deliberate step back, leaving her hand hovering in the empty air. "You're making a scene over a clumsy servant. I was simply establishing order. You of all people should understand that. Your father would have fired her on the spot."
"My father was many things, Camille," Gabriel said, his voice a low, terrifying rumble that seemed to lower the temperature in the room by ten degrees. "But he never used boiling water to teach a lesson to someone who couldn't fight back. That isn't discipline. That is sadism."
Camille’s face contorted, the polished mask of the high-society heiress slipping completely to reveal the ugly, entitled core underneath. "She spilled tea on a four-thousand-dollar custom gown! She is a maid, Gabriel! She is paid to be perfect, and if she can't manage that, she deserves to be reminded of her place!"
"Then let me remind you of yours," Gabriel replied, his dark eyes locking onto hers with a finality that made her breath hitch. "You are a guest in this house. A guest whose invitation has just been revoked."
He turned his back on her, completely dismissing her presence, and walked toward the shivering girl by the sideboard. Marco, his head of security, immediately stepped forward, his massive frame cutting off any path Camille might take toward Gabriel.
"Marco," Gabriel commanded quietly. "Call Dr. Harrison. Tell him to meet us in the study with a burn kit. And have one of the cars brought around to the front."
"Right away, boss," Marco said. He cast a cold, disapproving glance at Camille before pulling out his phone.
Gabriel reached Elena, his imposing six-foot-three figure softening as he looked down at her. She was trembling violently, her eyes wide with a mixture of physical agony and sheer terror. In her world, a mafia boss approaching an injured servant usually meant disposal, not assistance. She flinched as he reached out, but Gabriel didn't strike. Instead, his large, calloused hands gently took hold of her uninjured wrist, guiding her away from the broken glass.
"Come with me, Elena," he said softly.
"Gabriel!" Camille shrieked behind him, her voice echoing off the high ceilings. "You cannot do this to me! My father is the largest distributor for your import lines! If you throw me out over a peasant, you will ruin the Whitaker alliance!"
May you like
Gabriel stopped at the double doors of the dining room. He didn't turn around. He didn't need to. "Tell your father that the import contracts are terminated as of tonight. I don't do business with people who raise monsters."
With that, he guided Elena out of the room, leaving Camille standing alone among the crystal chandeliers, staring at a discarded piece of titanium that represented the empire she had just lost.
