Chapter 4 - THE SNAKE PIT
The Vance estate was a sprawling stone fortress tucked away in the exclusive hills of Brookline. High wrought-iron gates opened to a long, winding driveway lined with ancient oaks, their branches reaching out like skeletal fingers in the dark.
I sat in the passenger seat of the sedan, dressed in a black silk gown that Silas's people had delivered to the hospital. It fit perfectly, hugging my curves and revealing the pale skin of my neck and shoulders. The purple bruise on my wrist was covered by a thick gold cuff bracelet.
"You look beautiful," Silas said, his eyes scanning me as the car stopped in front of the grand entrance. "But you look like you are going to an execution."
"Aren't I?" I asked, looking at the massive oak doors of the mansion.
Silas chuckled, a low, dark sound. "Only if you show weakness. My family is a pack of wolves, Celine. If they smell fear, they will tear you apart. Hold my arm. Look them in the eye. And remember: you are the woman I chose."
I took a deep breath, letting the cold determination settle into my bones. "I can do this."
We stepped out of the car. Silas offered his arm, and I took it, the warmth of his wool coat a stark contrast to the chilly night air.
The front doors were opened by two silent men in dark suits. We entered a grand foyer with marble floors and a massive crystal chandelier that cast sharp, glittering light over the assembled crowd.
There were about thirty people in the room, all dressed in formal attire. The chatter died down instantly as we walked in. Every eye turned to us.
An older woman with silver hair and a face like carved granite stepped forward. She wore a deep purple gown and a string of pearls that looked heavy enough to choke her.
"Silas," she said, her voice dripping with artificial sweetness. "We were beginning to think you wouldn't show. And who is this... unexpected guest?"
"Aunt Sofia," Silas said, his voice smooth as silk. "This is Celine. My fiancée."
A collective murmur went through the room.
Sofia’s eyes flicked down to my hand, zeroing in on the emerald ring. Her mouth tightened.
"Fiancée?" Sofia repeated, her tone turning sharp. "You must be joking, Silas. The board has been discussing your union with the Moretti family for months. Who is this girl? Where does she come from?"
"She comes from my heart, Sofia," Silas said, his arm sliding around my waist, pulling me close. His touch was warm, comforting, yet there was a possessive tightness to it. "And my decision is final. The Moretti deal is off."
A man in his late twenties, with slicked-back hair and a cruel mouth, stepped forward from the crowd. He looked remarkably like Silas, but lacked the quiet authority.
"This is absurd, Silas," the man sneered. "She’s a nobody. I had my people look into her the moment you called. She’s a waitress from the North End. Her father was a debtor who died in prison, and her mother is a charity case in a clinic."
The words cut through me like a knife. I felt the urge to pull away, to hide, but Silas’s grip on my waist tightened, holding me firm.
"Careful, Julian," Silas said, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "You are speaking about my future wife. If you insult her again, I will forget we share the same blood."
Julian laughed, though it sounded forced. "You're soft, cousin. You're letting a pretty face ruin the family's future. The Morettis won't take this insult lightly."
"Then let them come to me," Silas said. "Now, if you will excuse us, my fiancée is hungry."
He led me toward the dining room, but as we walked past Julian, the younger man whispered just loud enough for me to hear: "Enjoy your time while it lasts, waitress. In this family, widows don't inherit."
Dinner was a tense, agonizing affair. I sat at the head of the table beside Silas, feeling thirty pairs of eyes dissecting my every move. I didn't speak unless spoken to, keeping my answers brief and polite, just as Silas had instructed.
But the real threat didn't come from inside the room.
Halfway through the main course, a guard entered the room and whispered something into Silas's ear.
Silas's expression didn't change, but his eyes turned to ice. He stood up, placing his napkin on the table.
"Excuse me for a moment," he said to the room. He looked down at me. "Stay here, Celine. I will be right back."
He left the room, followed by three of his guards.
As soon as the door closed, Julian leaned across the table, a wicked grin on his face.
"Do you know why Silas is so eager to marry you, Celine?" Julian asked, his voice carrying across the silent room. "It’s not just the will. It’s because he’s desperate. The Morettis have been squeezing our shipping lanes. He needs to show strength, and he thinks a wedding will do it."
"Julian, that's enough," Sofia warned, though she didn't look displeased.
"No, let's be honest with the girl," Julian sneered. "She thinks she’s entering a fairy tale. But she’s just bait. The Morettis are going to start a war over this. And when they do, Silas won't be able to protect you, little waitress. In fact, you'll probably be the first one they put in the ground."
My heart hammered against my ribs, but I refused to show fear. I looked Julian dead in the eye.
"Then I guess it's a good thing Silas is a better hunter than you are," I said, my voice steady.
Julian's grin vanished, his eyes flashing with anger.
Before he could respond, the dining room doors burst open.
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It wasn't Silas who entered. It was Dante, his face covered in blood, his coat torn.
"Julian!" Dante gasped, collapsing against the doorframe. "It's the Morettis. They’re at the gates. They have Silas surrounded."
