Chapter 8
The transition from the tense dining hall to the quiet sanctuary of the residential wing was a profound relief. The bright, airy lighting of the mansion continued to cast a soft elegant warmth across the corridors, guiding them toward a secure guest suite.
Fiona walked slowly, her painful limp more pronounced now that the immediate adrenaline of the confrontation had faded. Ruby remained glued to her side, entirely dependent on the housemaid for comfort. Dante walked beside them, his broad, powerful shoulders relaxed, acting as a silent, formidable bodyguard for the two vulnerable figures.
Once inside the luxurious guest suite, the estate physician arrived quickly. He examined Ruby with gentle care, confirming she was malnourished and mildly dehydrated, but otherwise physically unharmed. After eating a warm bowl of soup, the exhausted three-year-old finally fell into a deep, peaceful sleep on the massive, ivory-upholstered bed, surrounded by pristine white damask linens.
"Will she make a full recovery, Doctor?" Dante asked, standing near the doorway, his eyes never leaving the sleeping child.
"She is resilient, Mr. Winslow," the physician replied quietly. "With proper care, nutrition, and a stable environment, she will be perfectly fine."
"Will she ever want for anything again while she resides under my roof?" Dante asked, a rhetorical vow of absolute protection.
The doctor nodded respectfully and exited the suite, leaving Dante and Fiona alone with the sleeping child.
Fiona stood near the edge of the bed, her sophisticated black maid dress perfectly neat, though her posture betrayed her exhaustion. She gently tucked the heavy duvet around Ruby's small shoulders.
"Are you in pain, Fiona?" Dante asked softly, noticing the subtle shifting of her weight off her injured leg.
"It's just a slight sprain, sir," Fiona replied, offering a tired but genuine smile. "I had to force the guesthouse door open. It was rusted shut."
"Will you allow me to summon the doctor back to examine your leg?" Dante inquired, taking a slow step toward her. The cinematic light caught the refined artistic tattoos across his hands.
"That isn't necessary, Mr. Winslow. I am fine," Fiona assured him gracefully.
"Does a woman who rescues a child from a cage deserve to suffer in silence?" Dante asked, his deep voice carrying a profound, tender insistence.
Fiona looked up, meeting his cold, perceptive eyes, and saw the absolute, unwavering respect blazing within them. "I will have it looked at in the morning, sir. Thank you."
"Will you stay in this suite tonight and ensure she is not disturbed?" Dante asked, gesturing toward the sleeping girl.
"Of course, sir. I wouldn't leave her," Fiona promised.
"Do you believe the woman who saved this child is still considered a servant in my home?" Dante inquired, tilting his head slightly, the extremely short stubble on his jawline catching the warm light.
Fiona’s expressive brows drew together in surprise. She realized that the Mafia boss was not giving an order, but offering a profound elevation in her status.
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"I don't know what you mean, sir," Fiona whispered.
"Will you allow me to make you the head of her personal household, with a salary that ensures you never have to wear a maid's uniform again?" Dante asked, offering a rare, subtle smile that completely transformed his handsome, angular face.
