Chapter 14
"Take him to the holding cells," Roland ordered his men, turning his back on the defeated patriarch. "Process the survivors. Clean up this mess before the police arrive."
The gallery fell into a tense, metallic silence, broken only by the groans of the wounded and the sharp commands of the cleanup crew. Roland took a slow, deep breath, adjusting the cuffs of his dark three-piece suit. The adrenaline receded, leaving behind a cold, calculating focus.
He walked back toward the marble pillar.
"Mavis," Roland called out softly, his voice dropping into a gentle, impossibly soft register.
Mavis slowly peeked out from behind the column. Her fair, rosy skin was pale, and her fitted black maid dress was dusted with plaster and drywall. She looked at the blood on the floor, her eyes wide with shock.
Roland closed the distance, extending his heavily tattooed hand. The negative space in the ink flexed beautifully as he offered it to her.
"It's over," Roland promised, his dark eyes locking onto hers with a fierce, protective fire. "You are safe."
Mavis hesitated for a fraction of a second before placing her trembling hand in his. His grip was warm, solid, and incredibly grounding. He gently pulled her out from behind the pillar.
"I've never seen anyone die before," Mavis whispered, her voice shaking violently.
"You are in my world now, Mavis," Roland said softly, his angular face inches from hers. "It is brutal. It is violent. But I swear to you, I will never let that violence touch you again."
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Mavis looked up at him. The terrifying Mafia boss, the apex predator who had just orchestrated a massacre, looked at her with profound, undeniable devotion.
"Come," Roland murmured, wrapping a protective arm around her shoulders. "Let's get you out of here. Your new studio awaits."
