Chapter 8
The vast ballroom, now devoid of the glittering crowd, felt surprisingly intimate. The clean, clear daylight continued to pour through the windows, casting a gentle golden warmth across the empty tables.
Stellan sat beside Amabel, his forearms resting on his knees. The crisp white of his dress shirt contrasted sharply with the dark ink of the tattoos wrapping around his hands. He looked at her not as a maid, but as the mother of his heir.
"Tell me about him," Stellan requested, his raspy voice gentle, carrying a vulnerability that no one in his syndicate had ever heard.
Amabel swallowed hard, her eyes welling with fresh tears, but this time they were born of a desperate, painful love. "He was beautiful. He has your hair... thick and dark. And his eyes... they were a deep, stormy grey, just like yours."
Stellan’s jaw tightened, his gaze dropping to the marble floor as he absorbed the image. He had a son. A boy who carried his blood, stolen and hidden away in a sterile facility by a woman he had almost married.
"I only held him for a few minutes," Amabel continued, her voice breaking. "Before the doctor took him. I didn't even get to name him."
"We will name him together," Stellan promised, his eyes lifting to meet hers. The conviction in his stare was absolute. "He will lack for nothing. He will grow up in this house, under my protection, and no one will ever take him from you again."
Amabel looked at the handsome, dangerous man beside her. "And me? What happens to me?"
"You are the mother of my child, Amabel," Stellan said, his words slow and measured, establishing a new reality. "You are no longer a maid in this estate. You will have your own suite in the east wing. You will have whatever you require. You are under the permanent protection of the Wycliffe family."
Amabel shook her head slightly, fear lingering in her rosy cheeks. "I don't belong in that world, Stellan. I just want my baby. I just want him to be safe."
"He will be safer here than anywhere else on earth," Stellan assured her. He reached out, his tattooed fingers gently brushing a stray tear from her cheek. "And so will you."
His touch was surprisingly tender, a stark contrast to the cold, sharp violence he wielded against his enemies. The artistic tattoo on his neck moved slightly as he swallowed, a rare display of nervousness from a man who feared nothing.
The heavy doors of the ballroom swung open, interrupting the quiet moment. Marcus strode in, his face set in grim lines.
"Boss," Marcus called out, stopping a respectful distance away.
Stellan stood up, his posture instantly reverting to the imposing Mafia boss. "Report."
"We have Evelyn Vance in the study," Marcus said. "She was uncooperative at first, but a brief conversation clarified her position. She surrendered the exact location of the Connecticut facility, along with the access codes and the medical files."
"And the team?" Stellan asked.
"En route," Marcus confirmed. "They will arrive at the facility in less than forty minutes. They have orders to secure the child and return immediately."
Stellan nodded. "Prepare a medical team in the residential wing. Have the finest pediatricians in the city waiting. I want my son examined the moment he arrives."
May you like
"Understood," Marcus said, turning to carry out the orders.
Stellan looked back down at Amabel. He extended his hand toward her. "Come. Let us go to the study. We will wait for him there."
