Chapter 10
He stood back up and shifted his gaze between Tessa and his son, who was now leaning tiredly against Tessa's shoulder. The beautiful housemaid had endured psychological and physical torment simply because she had earned the affection of his family. The fierce, gentle loyalty she had displayed was a rare, precious commodity in Dorian's dark, violent world.
"Vincent will ensure the entire staff is debriefed, and the guards who restrained you will be dealt with," Dorian stated, his voice a low, gravelly command laced with profound affection. "From this moment forward, you answer to no one but me. You are no longer a maid in this house. You will move into the secure wing tonight."
Tessa’s breath hitched. The magnitude of the offer, and the safety it provided, was overwhelming. The warm, golden light of the chandeliers caught the fresh tears welling in her eyes, this time born of absolute relief.
"Thank you, Dorian," Tessa whispered, the formality dropping away in the quiet intimacy of the room.
Before Dorian could respond, the heavy mahogany doors of the salon burst open again. A bloodied security operative stumbled into the room, gasping for breath, his dark suit torn and dusted with plaster.
"Is the perimeter breached?" Dorian 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! Maribel's personal guards got a signal out before we disarmed them! They hit the outer gates! We have multiple hostiles on the grounds!"
Dorian looked back at Tessa, his cold, perceptive eyes burning with an unyielding, protective fire.
"Shall we show them exactly what it costs to threaten my family?" Dorian asked the quiet room, racking the slide of his handgun with a sharp, metallic clatter as the estate's high-pitched security sirens began to wail.
"Stay close to me," Dorian ordered, his deep voice slicing through the blaring noise.
He didn't wait for an answer. He reached out, his warm, tattooed fingers wrapping securely around Tessa's wrist. He pulled her up from the floor, ensuring Caleb was tucked safely between them, and motioned for two guards to lift his mother's wheelchair. They stepped out into the chaotic, flashing hallway.
The bright, luminous colors of the mansion were gone, replaced by the chaotic strobe of red emergency lights and the deafening, rhythmic staccato of heavy gunfire echoing from the eastern wing. The smell of cordite and burning pine filled the air.
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Dorian moved with absolute, predatory grace. He kept Tessa, Caleb, and Elinor tucked safely behind his broad shoulders, his weapon raised, his observant eyes sweeping every cream marble column and gilded wall panel for threats.
The syndicate war had officially begun, and Dorian Bancroft was ready to burn his own empire to the ground to protect the fragile, beautiful new life hidden securely behind him. The night was young, and the blood on the marble floor was only the beginning.
