Chapter 10
Anita’s breath hitched in her throat. The imposing frame of the mafia boss filled her vision as he stepped closer. The warm golden light of the study caught the fine lines framing his perceptive eyes, revealing a depth of character she had never fully appreciated.
"What kind of change, Mr. Crowne?" Anita asked, her heart racing.
"Would you prefer to assume the role of Bobby’s personal governess, answering to no one in this house but me?" Maxwell asked.
Anita stared at him, overwhelmed by the sheer magnitude of the offer. A personal governess was a position of high respect and immense trust, offering a salary and security that far exceeded her role as a housemaid. It meant she would no longer be invisible; she would be a central figure in the life of the mafia boss's family.
"Are you serious, sir?" Anita asked, a radiant, beautiful smile breaking across her fair, rosy face.
"Have I ever joked about the welfare of my child?" Maxwell asked, stopping just inches from her.
"I would be honored," Anita whispered.
"Will you trust me to keep you safe when the war begins tonight?" Maxwell asked, his voice a low, gravelly promise.
"Always," Anita replied without hesitation.
Maxwell raised his tattooed hand, his knuckles gently brushing against the soft curve of her jawline. It was a fleeting, electric touch that promised a future far more complicated than employer and employee.
Before either could speak again, the heavy oak doors of the study burst open. A bloodied security operative stumbled into the room, gasping for breath.
"Is the perimeter breached?" Maxwell asked, spinning around, his hand already reaching for the concealed weapon beneath his vest.
"Yes, Boss!" the operative choked out. "The Shaw syndicate didn't wait! They are at the gates right now!"
Maxwell looked back at Anita, his cold, perceptive eyes burning with an unyielding, protective fire.
"Shall we show them exactly what it costs to threaten my family?" Maxwell asked the quiet room.
He racked the slide of his handgun with a sharp, metallic clatter as the estate's high-pitched security sirens began to wail. The war had officially arrived at their doorstep.
"Are the interior blast doors engaged?" Maxwell asked, remaining terrifyingly calm despite the adrenaline surging through his veins.
"Engaging now, sir! But they have heavy explosives. We are returning fire, but they are pushing hard toward the family wing!" the operative shouted over his radio.
"Will you hold the main hall until I arrive?" Maxwell asked.
"We will hold the line, Mr. Crowne!"
Maxwell released the radio button. He reached under his desk, his tattooed hands moving with practiced, lethal precision, and pulled out a heavy, customized automatic weapon. He turned and looked at Anita. She was backed against the wall, her expressive eyes wide with fear, yet entirely resolute. She was not running.
"Are you prepared to lock this door behind me?" Maxwell asked, walking toward her.
"I have to get to Bobby!" Anita cried out, panic finally lacing her American accent. "They are going toward his room!"
"Will you survive running through a crossfire in the main hallway?" Maxwell asked bluntly, his imposing frame blocking the exit.
"I can't just leave him alone in the dark, Maxwell!" Anita pleaded, using his first name in her desperation. "He will be terrified!"
Maxwell stared at the beautiful woman before him. She possessed a profound, quiet courage that completely eclipsed the shallow, venomous nature of the elites he normally dealt with. She was willing to run into a gunfight for a child who was not her blood.
"Are you willing to follow my exact orders if I take you with me?" Maxwell asked, his cold eyes burning with a fierce, protective fire.
"Yes," Anita promised without hesitation.
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"Shall we go get my son?" Maxwell asked.
He didn't wait for an answer. He grabbed her hand, his warm, tattooed fingers wrapping securely around her delicate wrist, and pulled her out of the study into the chaotic, flashing hallway, ready to burn the city to ash to protect what was his.
