Chapter 7
"Get your hands off me!" Daphne screamed as the enforcers dragged her backward toward the service corridor. "My family will not stand for this! You cannot survive without my father's alliance! The Wren syndicate will burn this mansion to the ground!"
"Take her to the holding cells in the sub-basement," Nathan commanded, his voice completely unbothered by her threats. "Ensure the temperature is dropped, and that she is stripped of all jewelry and communication devices."
"You are a dead man, Nathan!" Daphne wailed as they hauled her through the heavy double doors. "You hear me? You are a dead man!"
"We will see," Nathan murmured to the empty room.
The heavy service doors slammed shut, instantly cutting off Daphne’s frantic, echoing screams. The grand foyer was plunged back into a profound, ringing silence. The towering Christmas tree continued to sparkle with golden lights and crimson ornaments, a surreal, festive backdrop to the brutal mafia justice that had just been executed. Nathan stood perfectly still for a long moment, the adrenaline of the confrontation slowly ebbing from his system, leaving behind a profound, aching exhaustion.
He had defended his son and protected the woman who had quietly suffered under his roof, but the political fallout with the Wren family would inevitably ignite a massive war in the coming days. Daphne's father, a powerful underboss with deep ties to the eastern ports, would not let the imprisonment of his daughter go unanswered. Blood would inevitably spill on the snow before the new year.
Nathan let out a slow, controlled breath. He unbuttoned his suit jacket, rolling his broad shoulders to release the coiled tension. He looked at the antique mahogany wardrobe, the heavy carved doors still standing open. A fierce, protective rage continued to burn in his chest. He needed to see his son. He needed to ensure the damage wasn't permanent.
He turned and strode purposefully out of the grand foyer, ascending the marble staircase two steps at a time. His polished shoes were silent on the thick carpet as he headed straight for his private quarters on the second floor.
He approached the heavy wooden door of the master suite. Two enforcers stood guard, nodding respectfully as he approached. Nathan opened the door and stepped inside.
The room was bathed in the soft, warm glow of a bedside lamp and a roaring fireplace. Evan was sitting on the edge of the massive four-poster bed, having shed his charcoal suit jacket and burgundy bow tie, looking small and fragile in his crisp white shirt. Sitting on the floor right beside him, speaking in a low, soothing voice, was Elise Hart.
The maid had removed her white apron, folding it neatly over her lap. Her black dress was still creased, but her delicate features radiated a fierce, protective warmth. As Nathan entered, Elise immediately stood up, smoothing her skirt, her expressive eyes darting to his face to read the outcome of the confrontation downstairs.
"Daddy!" Evan cried, jumping out of the bed and running across the room.
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Nathan dropped to one knee, catching his son perfectly as the boy threw his small arms around his broad shoulders. He buried his face in Evan's hair, closing his eyes tightly.
"I'm here, sweetheart. I'm right here," Nathan murmured, his deep voice thick with emotion.
