Chapter 2 - THE ECHO OF A GHOST
The ballroom shattered into chaos. Voices erupted, a cacophony of gasps, hurried whispers, and the scrape of chairs as my men moved instinctively, their hands dropping to their holstered weapons. But I didn't see them. I didn't see the panicked socialites or the furious glare of my consigliere, Marcus. I only saw my son.
"Mommy?" Oliver whispered again, his voice raspy, brittle, unused for two agonizing years.
He reached out a trembling hand toward the maid. Emma Carter. She didn't flinch. She took his small hand in hers, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears, and gave him a gentle smile. "No, sweet boy," she said softly, her voice steady despite the hundreds of predatory eyes locked onto her. "I'm just a friend. But she wanted me to remind you of the song."
I crossed the distance between the stage and the floor in seconds. My guards parted like water. I grabbed Emma’s upper arm, perhaps too roughly, pulling her to her feet. "How do you know that song?" I demanded, the lethal edge in my voice making the nearest guests take a terrified step back.
Emma looked up at me. There was no fear in her hazel eyes, only a quiet defiance. "I was a night nurse at St. Jude’s," she said, her voice low enough that only I could hear. "I sat with your wife on the nights you were forced to handle your... business. She sang that to Oliver over the phone. She made me promise to sing it to him if he ever forgot her voice."
My chest tightened, a familiar agony gripping my ribs. Serena had known. Even at the end, she had been protecting our boy. I looked down at Oliver. He was staring at Emma, the hollow emptiness in his eyes replaced by a spark of life I thought was gone forever.
I turned to the crowd, my voice booming across the silence. "The gala is over. Everyone out."
Within minutes, the ballroom was empty save for my inner circle. Marcus approached, his face a mask of restrained fury. "Preston, you cannot be serious about the vow. You are the head of the Chicago syndicate. You cannot marry a maid."
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"I gave my word," I said coldly. "And she made my son speak." I turned back to Emma, who was still holding Oliver's hand. "Pack your things, Miss Carter. Tomorrow, you become my wife. And God help anyone who objects."
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