Chapter 10
Rosalind flinched violently at the threat. She dropped her hands, her fair skin streaked with ruined makeup, her eyes wide with primal terror. She knew the stories of what Damien Ashford did to traitors within his syndicate.
"You can't do this!" Rosalind choked out, the venom returning as self-preservation took over. "My father will burn your empire to the ground if you humiliate me like this!"
"Is your father a man who fights battles for foolish, cruel daughters?" Damien asked quietly.
"He will kill you!" Rosalind pleaded, reaching out to grasp the edge of the dining table. "I am going to be your wife, Damien! We signed the contracts! You cannot back out now without causing a massive war!"
Damien looked down at the trembling woman. He felt absolutely nothing for her. The political affection he had feigned for the sake of the syndicate merger evaporated instantly, leaving behind a cold, calculating void that craved only survival and absolute retribution.
"Do you expect me to harbor a sadistic abuser under my roof to appease a shipping magnate?" Damien asked.
He didn't wait for her to answer. He reached into his tailored jacket and retrieved a sleek, encrypted smartphone. He dialed a single digit and pressed the phone to his ear. The small artistic tattoo above his collar shifted seamlessly with the movement.
"Marcus," Damien said into the receiver, his eyes locked on his former fiancée. "Will you come to the dining room and escort Miss Shaw to the holding cells beneath the east wing immediately?"
He lowered the phone and looked at the broken socialite one last time.
"Have you finally realized the price of your ambition, Rosalind?" Damien asked softly, as the heavy mahogany doors of the dining room burst open.
Marcus and another massive security guard in dark suits entered the room. They marched forward without a word, hauling Rosalind roughly to her feet. She shrieked, thrashing wildly against their iron grip, but they were unyielding.
"You will regret this, Damien!" she screamed as they dragged her backward toward the doors. "You will all burn for this!"
"Will you convey my deepest regards to your father when I send him the pieces of his syndicate?" Damien asked quietly, watching the doors slam shut.
The profound, ringing silence of the grand dining room settled heavily over the remaining three figures. The cascading crystal chandeliers continued to cast their warm golden light over the abandoned porcelain plates and half-empty wine glasses. The opulent space, designed for celebration, now felt entirely different—it was a war room.
Damien stood silently for a moment, his broad shoulders rising and falling with a slow, controlled breath. The betrayal was absolute, the upcoming syndicate war with Rosalind’s father inevitable, but the immediate, toxic sickness within his home had been surgically removed. Now, he had to secure his son and the woman who had suffered to protect him.
He turned his body, pivoting seamlessly on the polished marble floors, and focused his entire attention back on Alice and Jamie.
Alice was still standing behind him, her hand resting gently on Jamie's shoulder. Her beautiful features were pale, her eyes still puffy and red from her earlier tears, and her disheveled hair fell loosely around her face.
Damien crouched down, his tailored suit shifting, and looked his son in the eye.
"Are you unharmed, Jamie?" Damien asked, his deep voice softening significantly, losing its lethal, interrogative edge.
Jamie looked at the towering mafia boss, a small smile breaking across his face. "I'm okay, Daddy. I didn't let her hurt Mommy."
"You are a very brave boy," Damien murmured, his thumb brushing his son's cheek. "You protected her."
Damien stood back up and shifted his gaze to Alice. The beautiful housemaid was watching him, her exhausted eyes drawn together in quiet empathy.
"You are no longer a maid in this house," Damien stated, his voice a low, gravelly command laced with profound affection. "From this moment forward, you answer to no one but me. You will move into the secure wing tonight."
Alice’s breath hitched. "Thank you, Damien."
Before Damien could respond, the heavy oak doors burst open again. A bloodied operative stumbled in.
"Is the perimeter breached?" Damien asked, spinning around, reaching for his weapon.
"Yes, Boss!" the operative choked out. "The Shaw syndicate didn't wait! They hit the outer gates!"
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Damien looked back at Alice, his cold eyes burning with a protective fire.
"Shall we show them exactly what it costs to threaten my family?" Damien asked the quiet room, racking the slide of his handgun as the estate's high-pitched sirens began to wail.
