Chapter 10
The sun was beginning to dip below the horizon, casting a long, golden hour glow over the estate, painting the walls in warm, elegant hues.
Amabel stood in the grand foyer, surrounded by the towering marble columns. Stellan stood beside her, his presence a constant, reassuring anchor. The massive double doors of the estate swung open, and Marcus walked in, flanked by two heavily armed guards.
In Marcus’s arms, wrapped in a soft, pale blue blanket, was a tiny, sleeping infant.
Amabel let out a breathless, broken cry. She practically ran across the marble floor. Marcus gently handed the bundle to her. Amabel cradled the baby to her chest, tears streaming down her rosy cheeks as she looked at the perfect, sleeping face of her son. He had a shock of dark hair, just as she remembered.
Stellan stepped up beside her. He looked down at the child, his breath catching in his throat. He reached out with a trembling, tattooed finger, gently stroking the incredibly soft skin of the baby’s cheek. The infant stirred slightly, letting out a quiet, contented sigh, but did not wake.
"He is perfect," Stellan whispered, a profound sense of awe in his deep, raspy voice.
"He is," Amabel wept, leaning her head against Stellan’s shoulder.
"Take them to the secured wing," Stellan ordered the medical team waiting nearby. "Examine him thoroughly. Ensure he lacks nothing."
Amabel allowed the nurses to guide her toward the private elevators, her eyes never leaving her son's face.
Stellan stood in the foyer, watching them go. The house felt different now. It was no longer just a fortress; it was a home. He turned back to Marcus, the cold, calculated mafia boss reasserting control.
"The Bellamy family accounts?" Stellan asked.
"Frozen, Boss," Marcus confirmed. "The federal prosecutors have already received the anonymous drop containing their tax evasion records. Celestine’s father was arrested twenty minutes ago."
"And Celestine?"
"She is sitting in her apartment, completely isolated," Marcus reported. "Her guards have abandoned her. She has no money, no leverage, and no allies."
"Leave her there," Stellan said coldly. "Let her rot in the prison of her own making."
Stellan walked back toward the grand staircase, his mind turning toward the future. The engagement was broken, the political alliance shattered. The other families in the city would see this as a moment of instability. The wolves would begin to circle, sensing weakness in the Wycliffe syndicate.
They would think he was distracted by a maid and an illegitimate child. They would think he was vulnerable.
Stellan paused at the landing, looking out through a large window as the last rays of the warm, golden sun faded into twilight.
He touched the small, artistic tattoo on his neck. They were wrong. He was not distracted. He was galvanized. He now had something truly worth fighting for. The syndicate wars of the past would pale in comparison to the violence he would unleash to protect the woman sleeping in his east wing and the son she had given him.
His phone buzzed again. It was an encrypted message from an unknown number.
We know about the child, Stellan. The Bellamy alliance was a shield. Without it, your ports belong to us by morning.
Stellan read the text, his sharp, intimidating eyes narrowing. A cold, dangerous smile spread across his handsome face. He typed a single-word reply.
May you like
Come.
He slipped the phone back into his pocket and walked up the stairs, ready to meet whatever darkness dared to cross the threshold of his bright, luminous world.
