Chapter 6
The distance between them closed entirely. Kellan’s imposing frame cast a long shadow over Briony, the faint scent of his expensive cologne mixing with the smell of the red clay. He raised his tattooed right hand, moving with agonizing slowness, and gently traced the line of her jaw with his thumb.
Briony’s breath hitched. She leaned into his touch instinctively, her expressive eyes fluttering shut for a fraction of a second. She had been his housemaid for five years, silently memorizing the sharp angles of his face, the measured cadence of his deep voice, and the heavy burden he carried as the head of the syndicate. To finally feel his touch, deliberate and reverent, was overwhelming.
“Sir, the others will see,” Briony whispered, though she made no move to pull away from his warm palm.
“Do you think I care who witnesses my gratitude to the woman who protected my honor?” Kellan asked softly, his thumb brushing over her rosy skin.
“He was right, Kellan,” she said, dropping his formal title in the heavy intimacy of the moment. “I am just a maid. If the syndicate finds out you locked up your own cousin over me, they will question your judgment. They will say I manipulated you.”
“Are you under the illusion that my empire requires the approval of cowards who laugh at a ball machine?” Kellan asked, his dark eyes burning with intense, unwavering certainty. “Do you not understand that your loyalty is worth more to me than a thousand men like Cedric?”
Briony looked up at him, a single tear escaping to trace a path down her cheek. “I just want you to be safe.”
“Will you come back to the main house with me, Briony, and allow my doctor to examine your hands?” Kellan asked, noticing a small scrape on her knuckles where she had slammed the heavy glass pitcher against Cedric’s chest.
Briony looked down at her hands, embarrassed. “It's just a scratch. It doesn't hurt.”
“Does a minor injury disqualify you from my protection?” Kellan asked gently, offering her his arm.
She hesitated for a moment before slipping her small hand into the crook of his muscular elbow. The stark contrast between the crisp white cuffs of his tailored shirt and the sophisticated black fabric of her maid dress was striking. Together, they walked off the private tennis court, leaving the ruined ball machine and the damp clay behind them.
The walk back to the main mansion was quiet. The sprawling estate was a fortress, highly secured and buzzing with the activity of Kellan’s loyal enforcers. As they stepped into the grand foyer, a lieutenant approached immediately, his face grim.
“Boss, we have a situation,” the lieutenant reported, his eyes darting briefly to Briony before focusing entirely on Kellan. “Cedric wasn't acting alone. We swept his office. He’s been in contact with the Marzano family for the last three months.”
Kellan’s sharp jaw tightened, the artistic tattoos on his hands flexing as he processed the information. The Marzanos were their most aggressive rivals. Cedric hadn't just been trying to humiliate Kellan; he had been attempting to stage a public coup to prove to the enemy that the Ashbury syndicate was weak.
“Did he honestly believe he could sell my empire from beneath a tennis club?” Kellan asked, his voice dropping into a lethal, terrifying register.
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“He gave them our supply routes, Boss,” the lieutenant warned. “They’re mobilizing. We expect a hit before morning.”
Kellan turned to Briony, his dark eyes fierce and protective. “Will you go to the secure suite on the third floor and lock the doors, Briony?”
