Chapter 9
The confession echoed in Damian's mind, cold and calculating. The Chicago outfit had reached directly into his home, bribed his senior security man, and attempted to crush a three-year-old child under a mountain of glass. It was an act of war so profound that it required an apocalyptic response.
But Damian’s sharp, intimidating eyes did not immediately look outward. They turned inward, sweeping back across the bright, ruined gala.
His gaze bypassed the shattered crystal and locked directly onto Celeste Bellucci.
The forty-year-old cousin was standing near a mirrored column, her luxurious evening gown looking ridiculous amidst the destruction. Her fair, rosy skin had turned a sickly shade of gray. She had watched the entire brutal interrogation, and she knew exactly why Damian was looking at her.
Damian stood up slowly, leaving the bleeding Grant on the floor. He walked back across the room, his polished shoes crunching over the glass, until he stopped directly in front of Celeste.
"You... took her shoes," Damian said softly. The measured, cold delivery of his words caused Celeste to violently flinch.
"Damian, I didn't know!" Celeste shrieked, her American accent pitching into a hysterical, defensive whine. She held up her hands, heavy with diamond rings. "I swear on my life! I was just annoyed by the cheap box! I didn't know Grant was waiting behind the pyramid! It was a coincidence!"
"There are no... coincidences... in my house," Damian murmured, tilting his head slightly. "You threw the box... to the exact spot... where the glass would fall. You positioned her."
"No! Please! You can't believe I would help Chicago kill our own blood!" Celeste sobbed, genuine tears of terror ruining her expensive makeup. "I am your cousin!"
"You are a parasite," Damian corrected, his voice completely dead. He turned to his remaining, loyal bodyguards. "Take her. Strip her of all her jewelry, her phone, and her access cards. Lock her in the holding cells in the basement. We will see if her story holds up under... enhanced questioning."
"Damian, no! You can't do this!" Celeste screamed as two massive bodyguards grabbed her by the arms, dragging her ruthlessly out of the brightly lit hall. Her screams faded down the corridor, leaving the room in stunned silence.
Damian turned his attention back to the center of the room.
Elena Brooks was still sitting on the marble floor, her maid uniform torn, her fair skin scratched and bleeding from the flying shards of crystal. She held Lily tightly in her lap, gently stroking the little girl's hair.
The deeply masculine, terrifying Mafia Boss walked over and knelt down beside the twenty-three-year-old maid. The coldness in his eyes vanished entirely, replaced by a profound, respectful awe.
"Elena," Damian said, his voice warm and gentle. He reached out and gently lifted Lily from her arms, pulling his daughter safely against his chest. He then offered his heavily tattooed hand to the maid. "You shielded my world today. You took the glass that was meant for her."
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"It's my job to look after the house, sir," Elena whispered, wincing as she took his hand and allowed him to help her to her feet.
"You are no longer a maid in this house," Damian declared, his voice carrying clearly to every guest in the room. "From this day forward, you are under my personal protection. Whatever you need, for the rest of your life, it is yours."
