Chapter 8 - THE BLOOD ON THE MARBLE|
Marco slowly released Beatrice’s arm, stepping back, his hands raised in fake surrender.
“Arthur, come on,” Marco stammered, trying to laugh it off. “She’s just an employee. She’s stepping out of line, talking about family business—”
Arthur moved so fast it barely registered as motion.
He closed the distance in two strides, grabbing Marco by his lapels and slamming him violently against the marble pillar in the corridor.
THUD.
The sound echoed down the quiet hallway. Marco gasped for air, his eyes wide with shock as Arthur’s heavy hand locked around his throat, lifting him two inches off the floorboards.
“She is not an employee tonight, Marco,” Arthur rasped out, his voice a chilling whisper that made Beatrice’s heart hammer against her ribs. “And if you ever lay a hand on her skin again, I will throw you off the roof of this hotel.”
“Arthur... please...” Marco choked out, his face turning dark red.
Arthur stared at his cousin for three terrifying seconds before tossing him aside like a bag of trash. Marco collapsed onto his knees on the marble floor, coughing violently, clutching his neck.
Arthur didn't look at him again. He turned to Beatrice, his expression softening just a fraction, his hand reaching out toward her.
“Are you alright?” he asked softly.
May you like
Beatrice looked at Marco bleeding on the floor, then looked up at Arthur. She was shaking—not from fear of Marco, but from the raw, terrifying power Arthur had unleashed to defend her.
“I’m fine,” she whispered, her voice trembling slightly. “Take me home, Arthur. The deal is done.”
