Chapter 2 - The Weight of the Truth
For a fraction of a second, Serena Montigue froze, her hand still suspended in the air where she had been prepared to strike Lily again. The color rapidly drained from her perfectly contoured face. Victor was not supposed to be home. He was supposed to be across the city, dealing with an overseas shipment at the docks, a meeting that always took until midnight.
Survival instinct, honed by years of manipulating high society, kicked in. Serena instantly released Lily’s hair and staggered backward, her hands flying to her mouth in a perfectly orchestrated display of mock horror.
“Victor! Oh, thank God you’re home!” Serena cried out, her voice trembling with manufactured panic. She rushed toward him, her white silk gown flowing elegantly behind her. She reached out, trying to place her hands on his chest, to mold herself into the victim. “It’s the nanny, Victor! She’s lost her mind! I came downstairs and found her shaking Ethan! When I tried to stop her, she attacked me! Look at her, she’s completely unhinged!”
Victor did not move. He did not blink. He simply stared down at the woman he had promised to marry. He didn't brush her hands away; he just looked at her with a cold, hollow emptiness that was infinitely more terrifying than rage.
Without a single word to his fiancée, Victor stepped around her as if she were nothing more than a piece of broken furniture. He walked slowly toward the center of the foyer and knelt down on the hard marble, the fabric of his expensive suit pulling tightly against his muscular frame.
Lily was trembling so violently she could barely hold herself up. Her vision was blurred with tears and pain. She looked at the towering mafia boss, the man who commanded thousands of loyal, violent men, the man whose very name made politicians sweat. She expected to be killed. She expected Serena’s lie to be believed.
But Victor didn't reach for a weapon. He reached out with massive, gentle hands and carefully lifted baby Ethan from the floor.
The moment the baby was securely in his father’s arms, Ethan’s cries changed. They shifted from terrified shrieks to exhausted, heart-wrenching sobs, the infant burying his little face into the lapel of Victor’s charcoal suit, his tiny fists gripping the expensive fabric for dear life. Victor cradled the back of his son’s head, his large hand completely enveloping the baby in warmth and protection.
Then, Victor turned his terrifying, dark eyes toward Lily.
Lily knelt on the floor, looking up at him. The right side of her face was swelling rapidly, a dark purple bruise blossoming around a jagged, bleeding cut on her cheekbone. Her lip was split. Her neat nanny uniform was rumpled and dusted with dirt from the floor. But despite her absolute terror, she did not look away from him.
“Tell me,” Victor commanded. His voice was not loud. It was a low, resonant baritone, smooth and steady, yet it carried the undeniable weight of a loaded gun.
Serena scoffed from behind him, her voice shrill with rising panic. “Victor, you can’t possibly ask her! She’s a liar and a psychopath! I am your fiancée, you have to believe—”
“Silence,” Victor said softly, not even looking over his shoulder. The word was a physical blow. Serena snapped her mouth shut, her body going rigid.
Victor looked back at Lily. “Speak, Lily. No one in this room will interrupt you.”
Lily swallowed the metallic taste of blood in her mouth. She looked at the baby, safely tucked against Victor’s broad chest, and found the courage she didn't know she possessed. She had nothing to lose but her life, and she was willing to trade it for Ethan’s safety.
“She hurts him, Mr. Blackwood,” Lily sobbed, the words tumbling out of her in a desperate rush. Tears streamed down her bruised face, mixing with the blood. “She hurts the child every time you leave the house.”
“That is a lie!” Serena shrieked, taking a step forward.
One of Victor’s bodyguards, a giant of a man named Marcus, instantly stepped into Serena’s path, blocking her with a wall of solid muscle. He didn't touch her, but his silent glare was enough to make her freeze in her tracks.
“Go on,” Victor urged Lily, his eyes narrowing, his focus entirely on the broken, brave girl in front of him.
“She hates him,” Lily continued, her voice gaining strength as the dam broke. “Whenever your car pulls out of the driveway, she comes to the nursery. She calls him horrible names. She says he’s a burden. If he cries, she pinches his arms where the bruises won't show easily under his clothes. Today… today he was teething, and he wouldn't stop crying. She came downstairs, grabbed him from his playpen, and said she was going to lock him in the basement closet so she wouldn't have to hear him.”
Lily pointed a shaking finger at Serena. “I tried to take him back. I begged her. She punched me with her ring. She kicked me. She was dragging him by his arm… his face was turning purple, Mr. Blackwood. If you hadn't walked in…” Lily broke down into heavy, gasping sobs, wrapping her arms around her own ribs. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry I couldn't protect him better. I tried. I swear I tried.”
Victor remained perfectly still on one knee. He looked at the deep, vicious cut on Lily’s face. He looked at the dirt on her knees from where she had thrown herself onto the marble. Then, very gently, he pulled back the sleeve of his son’s tiny sweater.
Just above Ethan’s wrist, clear as day, were the deep, red, crescent-shaped indentations of Serena’s manicured fingernails, already beginning to bruise into dark, painful marks.
The evidence was undeniable. The truth was absolute.
Victor slowly stood up, cradling his son with one arm. The air in the mansion seemed to drop ten degrees. He didn't shout. He didn't explode in a theatrical display of mafia rage. His reaction was far, far worse. The camera-pan of his movement captured the heavy, gold Rolex watch on his wrist as his free hand slowly, deliberately curled into a tight, white-knuckled fist.
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He turned around to face Serena Montigue. His dark eyes were devoid of any human emotion. They were the eyes of the devil looking at a condemned soul.
“You touched my son,” Victor whispered.
