Chapter 7
Dorian set Lily down gently on a plush leather sofa near a crackling fireplace. "Stay here, Lily. You are safe now."
"Is the bad lady coming back?" Lily asked, her voice trembling slightly.
"Never," Dorian promised, kissing the girl's forehead.
He turned to Ava, who was standing awkwardly near the center of the room, her hands still clutching her rumpled white apron. She looked entirely out of place in the inner sanctum of the mafia boss.
"Sit," Dorian commanded gently, gesturing toward an armchair opposite the sofa.
Ava complied, her legs feeling shaky. The adrenaline of the evening was finally wearing off, leaving her exhausted and hyper-aware of the massive shift in her reality.
Dorian walked over to a crystal decanter on his desk, pouring a small measure of amber liquid into a glass. He brought it to Ava, pressing the heavy crystal into her trembling hands.
"Drink," he instructed softly. "It will help settle your nerves."
Ava took a small sip, the burn of the alcohol grounding her slightly. She looked up at Dorian, her expressive eyes wide with fear.
"Did I cause a war, Mr. Blackwell?" Ava whispered. "If I hadn't stepped forward... if Lily hadn't remembered our game..."
"Do you believe a war is a high price to pay for the truth?" Dorian asked, pulling up a chair to sit directly in front of her, their knees almost touching. "She kidnapped your child, Ava. My daughter was threatened. There is no universe in which I would allow her to breathe free air after that."
"But her family... they are powerful," Ava said, her voice shaking.
"Are they more powerful than a father seeking vengeance?" Dorian asked, his dark eyes hardening into twin points of icy resolve. "Do not worry about the Vales, Ava. I will handle them. You just need to focus on surviving tonight."
Before she could answer, the secure phone on Dorian’s desk began to ring. The shrill, encrypted tone shattered the silence of the study.
Dorian sighed, a harsh, frustrated sound escaping his chest. He stood up, the cold, calculating mask of the syndicate boss slipping back over his angular features instantly. He strode to the desk and picked up the receiver.
"Report," Dorian commanded.
"Boss, it's Marcus," the underboss's voice crackled through the speaker. "The Vale family has mobilized. Their scouts were just spotted probing the northern perimeter. They know we have Corinne."
"Did they attempt a breach?" Dorian asked, his voice devoid of panic, asking the question with tactical precision.
"Not yet," Marcus replied. "They are massing numbers. Old man Vale just sent an encrypted message. He demands his daughter back within the hour, or he will flatten the estate."
"Does an old man with a bruised ego truly believe he can issue ultimatums at my gates?" Dorian asked, his jaw tightening so hard the small artistic tattoo on his neck shifted. "Reinforce the northern walls. Issue armor-piercing rounds to the snipers on the roof. If a single vehicle crosses the property line without my authorization, turn it to scrap metal."
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"Understood, Boss. We are ready," Marcus confirmed before the line went dead.
Dorian set the phone down carefully. He didn't move for a moment, staring out the window into the dark, cold night. The Christmas Eve snow was beginning to fall, a peaceful, picturesque scene that starkly contrasted the impending bloodshed.
