Alma Reed gently lowered the shawl from the woman seated at the head of the dining table

The heavy mahogany double doors of the dining room swung open violently. Marcus, a towering man with a heavily scarred face and a dark trench coat, stepped into the room, flanked by two equally intimidating enforcers. They moved with absolute, silent precision, ignoring the lavish surroundings and focusing entirely on their boss.

"Will you escort the imposter to the holding cells in the sub-basement?" Nolan asked, not taking his eyes off the weeping woman backed against the carved marble fireplace.

"No! No, please!" Daria shrieked, kicking and thrashing wildly as the two enforcers reached out and grabbed her by the arms. They hauled her to her feet with effortless strength, the delicate fabric of her sculpted satin gown tearing audibly at the seams. "My father will kill you, Nolan! He will slaughter your entire syndicate for this!"

"Will you ensure she is gagged if she continues to scream, Marcus?" Nolan inquired, his voice completely devoid of emotion.

Marcus nodded grimly. "Yes, boss. Let's go, princess."

The enforcers dragged Daria backward toward the doors. Her threats devolved into hysterical, panicked sobs that echoed down the grand hallway until the heavy doors clicked shut behind them, sealing the dining room in a profound, suffocating silence.

Nolan stood perfectly still for a long moment. The tension slowly bled out of his powerful shoulders. He turned his head, his thick, slightly wavy hair catching the light of the crystal chandeliers, and looked across the room to where Alma was standing protectively near Lydia.

Alma was shaking. Her sophisticated black maid dress felt incredibly thin in the aftermath of the violence. She had just witnessed the destruction of a massive mafia anniversary, all because she had brought a broken woman to the dinner table. She looked at the mafia boss, terrified that his wrath would inevitably turn on her for exposing the rot in his foundation.

Nolan walked slowly back to the head of the table. He dropped to one knee on the polished hardwood floor, completely ignoring the crease it put in his expensive trousers, bringing himself down to his wife's eye level.

"Are you harmed anywhere else, Lydia?" Nolan asked, his deep voice softening just a fraction, losing the lethal edge it had carried moments before. He gently brushed a stray tear from her pale cheek, his tattooed fingers moving with profound reverence.

"I'm so cold, Nolan," Lydia whispered, throwing her arms around his neck, burying her face against the dark wool of his suit. "I didn't think you would ever find me."

"Would I ever stop searching if I had known you were missing?" Nolan asked, burying his face in her hair, holding her in a fierce, bone-crushing embrace. He closed his eyes, fighting back the wave of agonizing guilt that threatened to drown him. How had he slept next to a monster and not known?

Nolan stood up slowly, keeping one powerful arm securely around Lydia’s waist, supporting her fragile weight against his chest. He turned his attention back to Alma.

"Are you injured, Alma?" Nolan asked quietly, his perceptive eyes searching her delicately featured face.

"I am unharmed, sir," Alma answered, her voice trembling as she kept her hands folded over her neatly tied white apron. "But... I know what just happened. I know the Lane family will come for you because I brought her here."

"Do you believe I would allow a woman who tortures my wife to remain in my home out of fear of her father?" Nolan asked, a flicker of profound, protective warmth entering his cold eyes as he looked at her.

"I didn't know what to expect, Mr. Westbrook," Alma whispered, her expressive brows drawing together. "I just heard the sounds coming from the old cellar. I couldn't leave her there."

"Did you think a monster would punish the only person with the courage to bring my wife back from the dark?" Nolan asked gently.

He didn't walk away. He stood there, holding his wife, his towering masculine frame casting a long shadow in the golden light. The rigid boundaries of class, wealth, and danger had been completely obliterated in the span of a single evening.

"Will you accompany us upstairs, Alma?" Nolan asked, his gaze lingering on her softly oval face. "Do you think I trust anyone else in this house to watch over her tonight?"