Chapter 8
The transition from the opulent, massive dining hall to the quiet, secure residential wing of the mansion was a journey through changing light. The bright, airy luminosity of the lower floors gave way to a softer, more intimate golden warmth in the private corridors. Ivory-paneled walls lined with classical art passed in a blur as Ada followed a few steps behind the Mafia boss.
Maxwell walked with effortless grace, his polished leather shoes making rhythmic, muffled sounds against the thick runner rug. Baxter padded slowly beside him, leaning heavily against his master's leg. Ada watched the broad, powerful expanse of Maxwell's shoulders, her heart still racing from the adrenaline of the confrontation. She had fully expected to be fired, cast out into the street for defying the future bride. Instead, she was walking deeper into the inner sanctum of the Rourke syndicate.
They reached the doors of Maxwell’s expansive private study. The room was decorated in rich leathers and dark woods, a fire roaring in the massive stone fireplace. Maxwell gently guided the exhausted dog to a plush rug near the hearth.
"Will you bring him a warm blanket, Ada?" Maxwell asked, stepping back to offer the animal space near the fire.
"Yes, sir," Ada replied, her American accent soft and steady.
She moved with elegant, polished efficiency, retrieving a thick wool blanket from a nearby chest and gently draping it over Baxter's shivering frame. The dog let out a long sigh, resting his chin on his paws, the emotional and physical toll of the evening finally catching up to him. Once the dog was settled, Maxwell stepped closer to the hearth.
He stood near the fire, the flames casting dancing shadows across his angular face.
"Will you dry yourself by the fire before the dampness settles in your bones?" Maxwell asked softly.
"I am fine, Mr. Rourke," Ada assured him gracefully, though she shivered slightly in her damp uniform.
"Does a woman who plunges into freezing water deserve to suffer in silence?" Maxwell asked, his deep voice carrying a profound, tender insistence.
Ada looked up, meeting his cold, perceptive eyes, and saw the absolute, unwavering respect blazing within them. "I will change into a dry uniform shortly, sir. Thank you."
"Will you stay in this suite tonight and ensure he is not disturbed?" Maxwell asked, gesturing toward the sleeping dog.
"Of course, sir. I wouldn't leave him," Ada promised.
"Do you believe the woman who saved this animal is still considered a servant in my home?" Maxwell inquired, tilting his head slightly, the extremely short stubble on his jawline catching the warm light.
Ada’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," Ada whispered.
"Will you allow me to make you the head of my personal household, with a salary that ensures you never have to wear a damp uniform again?" Maxwell asked, offering a rare, subtle smile that completely transformed his handsome, angular face.
