Discovering the Truth [2]
The blade of silence was torn.
"Why were we summoned here?"
Nael's voice cut through the air—weightless, intentionless. A sound devoid of emotion, yet reverberating through the room like a dry crack in the stillness.
The clinking of silverware ceased. The fragile chatter crumbled instantly. Tension spreads like invisible poison.
Nael's gaze was an unfathomable abyss. No coldness, no fury, no impatience. Only a void impossible to decipher.
Emily swallowed dryly.
His stare felt like a physical presence, an invisible weight lodging itself in her bones and refusing to leave. She'd never known how to explain the sensation. With other men, there was intimidation, threat, restrained violence. With Nael, it was different.
He needed none of that.
Nael was a silence that devoured.
She looked away.
Kendrick, beside her, remained motionless.
His hand rested on the table, relaxed, but Emily knew the signs. The slight tension in his fingers, the overly controlled breath, the unblinking stare. He felt it as deeply as she did.
Yet no one answered.
The clock on the wall counted seconds, each longer than the last.
"If no one will speak," Nael continued, breaking the vacuum without altering his tone, "then we already have our answer."
He shifted then.
Not a sudden move, not a threat. Merely adjusting his napkin and leaning to rise, as though the meeting had lost all purpose.
But Kendrick spoke.
"Sit."
A command.
Nael paused.
His gaze turned to Kendrick, and for an instant, something almost imperceptible stirred the air.
Not hostility.
Not defiance.
The complete absence of both.
Kendrick—a man who intimidated even the steadiest—found nothing to confront. No resistance, no submission. Only an empty mirror reflecting his own image.
His hand on the table tightened faintly.
"Just sit," he repeated.
This time, not as an order.
Nael held his gaze a moment longer, then, unhurried, resumed his seat.
The dinner resumed.
But the food kept cooling.
---
The room felt smaller under the silence's weight.
Emily kept her spine straight, fingers delicately folded in her lap. But inside, something coiled.
Nael's gaze was absolutely void. No threat, no emotion, not even a flicker of genuine interest. Only the total absence of humanity.
And that, more than anything, made her skin prickle.
Kendrick bent the world around him, molded people with his presence, forced them to bow. Nael did nothing. He simply existed, and that existence alone made the air heavy and lungs falter before the next breath.
Emily glanced away, seeking refuge. But the hall had become an inescapable void.
Nael didn't move.
He merely observed.
She knew there was no real interest. He wasn't studying her expressions or emotions. He simply *saw* her. Like analyzing a reflection in frosted glass—a repetitive pattern offering no novelty.
That was what unnerved her.
Not the empty stare, not the crushing presence. The certainty that, to Nael, none of this mattered.
Kendrick, beside her, stayed still. His hand appeared relaxed, but Emily noticed the subtle tension in his fingers. The calculated breath. The way he kept Nael in his periphery without ever meeting his eyes.
"You're unsettled, Emily."
Nael's voice fractured the silence.
Not an accusation. Not a taunt. A statement, as though observing the sky's color and declaring it overcast.
Emily lifted her eyes.
Something in her wanted to deny it, laugh it off, but her throat stayed parched.
Kendrick shifted faintly, a motion almost imperceptible, as if the air had thickened.
But Nael was no longer looking at her.
The tension he'd provoked no longer mattered.
And that, more than anything, made her feel small.
The ensuing silence was an abyss.
---
The candlelight flickered over the table, casting jagged shadows on tense faces. Silverware lay still on plates, wine forgotten in goblets. The weight of revelation dragged through the hall like a suffocating phantom.
Nael didn't react.
No shift in expression, no tensed muscle, no glance toward Nayara. Only the same absolute indifference, cold as stone.
Rose held his gaze, but her hands stiffened in her lap. Her breath was controlled, yet the words had cost her.
Kendrick looked away.
Emily's spine chilled.
Nayara, beside Nael, remained statue-still. Her face was shadowed, eyes hidden, but her posture was rigid—a sculpture on the brink of cracking.
"So that's it." Nael's voice severed the silence. Not a question. Not an accusation. Acknowledgment of a fact now undeniable.
Rose didn't answer.
The truth was already laid bare.
Nael raised his wineglass, the motion mechanical, slow—as if granting the moment one last shred of normalcy before burying it. The silence around him was a verdict, but he seemed indifferent.
When he set the glass down, he lifted his eyes to Rose.
"What's the criterion?"
Her gaze wavered for a second.
"Criterion?"
"For the choice." His voice flat, empty of outrage or surprise.
Rose hesitated.
"Power… alliances… safety…" Her voice weakened with each word. "And your sister must choose… to marry the future Capo… or the Russian mafia's firstborn."
Nael nodded slowly, as if dissecting an equation.
"I see."
The air thickened further.
The silence that followed was the cruelest yet.
No explosions, no pleas. Only naked reality resting on the table like a blade awaiting its wielder.
---
The air was dense, charged with oppressive electricity. The silence wasn't absence—it was a crushing presence, a vacuum nearing implosion. Dust motes drifted slowly, as if fearing movement under the invisible pressure. Breathing was laborious, each inhale a defiance of the smothering atmosphere.
Nayara stood amid the void. Motionless, yet vibrating. Her rage didn't burn—it expanded, seeping into the room's crevices like lethal poison. Her presence wasn't a gathering storm but the calm before it—the moment of absolute stillness where fate was sealed.
Her steps were soft, almost ethereal, yet each resonated like a dull strike to the ribs of those who dared watch. Shadows trembled under the candlelight as she neared Rose. No one moved. Cold crept, slow and cruel, coiling around bones, seeping into skin as if the room had plunged into a lightless abyss.
"How dare you…" Her voice wasn't loud but carried crushing weight—each word a verdict, a sober warning before the axe fell.
Rose, ever poised, now seemed fragile. Pride kept her upright, but her eyes… they faltered. A fleeting glance away—enough. A mute confession that she'd crossed a line with no return.
The distance between them dissolved in a breath. Nayara stood so close her furious heat clashed with the room's chill. Her gaze held not fire but pure ice—sharp, lethal, absolute.
"Do you know who you're speaking to?" The question demanded no answer. A blade pressed to the throat, a silent challenge to any resistance.
The silence became a living entity. Rose held her posture, but something within her shrank. Fear lingered—not of Nayara's actions, but of what it meant to face her now. This was no battle of force but of raw power, a clash of presences needing no blows to decide victory.
Then Celestia moved.
Subtle, unhurried, soundless. Yet her presence—as absolute as Nayara's—altered the universe's balance. Her eyes, dark as night's veil, settled on Nayara with intensity that needed no words.
Nayara's rigidity didn't soften, but her hesitation redefined the battlefield. A game of equilibrium where every move risked ruin.
The world held its breath. The next action would decide all.
Then a voice sliced the atmosphere like a razor:
"You know now. Sit down and shut your mouth."
The order came without inflection, heat, or persuasion. A clean, direct, absolute command.
Nael.
His empty gaze didn't settle on Nayara, Rose, or Celestia. As if he stared through the universe itself, analyzing every variable, every possibility, never engaging. An observer who didn't feel—only understood.
The moment's weight relented. The tension didn't dissipate—it froze, awaiting resumption. For now, the board had reset.
The storm hadn't ended.
It merely waited.
"Continue." This time, the word was a whip—sharp, final.
Rose hesitated. Not from fear of Nael, but knowing her words might plunge them deeper. Before she could speak, Merlin—eldest of Ivan's sons—rose with near-reckless impulse.
"Don't speak to Grandma like that!" His voice trembled between rage and desperation, as if he could shield Rose from Nael.
Nael's gaze fell on him, cold as the ocean's depths. Nothing changed in his expression. No threat, no anger—only void. Merlin, despite his audacity, felt Nael's invisible weight—crushing, rendering his defiance insignificant.
Rose raised a hand, a gesture pleading calm but laced with sudden weariness. Years weighed on her now, heavier than any could fathom.
"I only ask for calm. I'll explain everything. I *promise* I'll explain."
Her voice was firm, yet frayed by exhaustion—a shadow none yet understood. She knew speaking meant no return. The fragile balance of the family would shatter.
And Nael, as always, waited. For to him, truth was merely another piece in the game—or so he believed.
---
The silence devoured the room. Each breath, each heartbeat echoed in the thick air. The revelation—raw, devastating—hung like a curse. Disbelief and dawning certainty intertwined: the abyss was here, inescapable.
Rose, head bowed, bore the weight of her words. She'd shattered the last shield between them and the truth. Each syllable was a blade. Yet she had no choice. She'd guarded secrets no one wanted to hear, now facing the abyss with a frost only she could muster.
"Your father…" Her voice wavered but steadied, forcing the words like venom. "…raped the Russian mafia boss's youngest sister. As compensation, he promised the eldest daughter's hand in marriage. They refused. So he vowed to take her—alive, even as a concubine."
Each word tore the air. The room was petrified, shocked beyond imagination. The story unfolding was darker than any foreseen, deeper than any known abyss.
What followed was contained fury. Nayara, ever controlled, neared breaking. Her body trembled, fists clenched in silent threat. Her voice, when it came, was more animal than human:
"I'll kill him…" A growl—a promise of annihilation.
Beside her, Celestia—usually calm—burned with rage. Mother and daughter, united in hatred, were twin storms colliding. Nothing could stop them… save Nael.
Nael didn't move. His presence dominated. His gaze—a silent command—cut through their rage, dissolving it like mist. Their fury drained before him, frozen by his observation.
Nayara's tension stilled. Celestia froze. They faced something beyond anger, beyond vengeance.
Nael, unaffected, observed like a spectator of a foreknown play. The tension between mother and daughter eased, hearts still pounding but imprisoned—bound until he willed otherwise.
The game continued. Their futures hung in the balance, but Nael held the reins. They could disrupt the equilibrium, but the only choice that mattered was his.
---
The air hung like lead. The room, dim under high-hung lamps, smelled of old varnish and broken promises. Dust danced in silence, awaiting the inevitable.
Rose inhaled deeply, her gaze sweeping faces for alternatives. Her voice emerged low, weary:
"As a solution… I propose that your daughter or sister marries the Capo's son."
The sentence hovered like a requiem. Silence shackled bodies to chairs. Rose looked away, disgusted by her own words. Shallow breaths, no hesitation—only resignation.
"This way, she escapes the cycle." Her voice frayed under an ancient burden. "And yes, I know who you are, Nayara. The Order's Princess. Everyone knows. It makes you more coveted. They'll wage war for you."
Nayara's eyes narrowed. Darkness folded around her. *Coveted*. A prize. Her body tensed, face unreadable—silence her fortress, a hurricane within.
Rose continued, fading with each word:
"Being the Order's Princess doesn't make you fearsome. Only more desired. All organizations crave control, none dare confront it. But… your father promised you to him. And in his organization, one rule stands: no interference in family matters. This *is* family. The Order won't intervene."
Weak light cast jagged shadows on Nayara's face. Her jaw hardened, motionless. Silence swallowed the room—only muffled thoughts and crushing weight.
"But…" Nayara began, voice fragile as a blade too thin.
Then Dylan, the Capo's heir, spoke. His usually confident voice wavered:
"She's not the eldest daughter."
The words cracked the glass. The room held its breath. Nayara's posture shifted—subtle, like wind shifting before a storm.
Ethan, once mordant, now grim, laughed dryly. His eyes glinted before his voice filled the void:
"What difference does it make now?"
Night's weight seeped into walls, dripping like venom. The room was no longer a space but a silent battleground. Gazes crossed like sheathed blades. Among them, Nael observed—detached, a patient predator disinterested in the hunt.
In that silence—thick as a freshly opened grave—a truth hovered, unspoken: there were no exits. Only choices. All leading to the same end.