Chapter 6
The profound, ringing silence of the grand dining room settled heavily over the remaining two figures. The cascading crystal chandeliers continued to cast their warm golden light over the abandoned gold-rimmed porcelain and half-empty crystal wine glasses. The opulent space, designed for celebration, now felt entirely intimate and isolated.
Dorian stood silently for a moment, his broad shoulders rising and falling with a slow, controlled breath. The betrayal was absolute, the upcoming syndicate war with Celia’s father inevitable, but the immediate, toxic sickness within his home had been surgically removed. Now, he had to address the woman who had suffered for him.
He turned his body, his polished leather shoes pivoting seamlessly on the thick rug, and walked toward the head table.
Maren was still standing in her sophisticated black maid dress, her hands gripping the edges of her white apron to steady herself. Her softly oval face was etched with deep relief, but she was still trembling from the shouting and the sudden violence of Celia’s removal.
Dorian stopped beside her, his imposing, masculine frame casting a protective shadow over the housemaid. He reached out and gently pulled one of the champagne velvet chairs away from the table.
"Will you sit down and rest for a moment, Maren?" Dorian asked, his deep voice softening significantly, losing its lethal, interrogative edge.
Maren nodded weakly, sinking into the plush chair. She looked up at the towering mafia boss, her expressive eyes searching for reassurance.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Hartwell. I didn't mean to ruin the dinner," Maren whispered, her American accent musical and clear now that she could monitor her own volume.
"Would telling the truth to protect yourself ever be considered a crime in this house?" Dorian asked, reaching out to gently trace the line of her delicate jaw with his tattooed thumb.
Maren leaned into his large hand, closing her eyes briefly. "No."
"Are you a brave woman?" Dorian asked, his thumb brushing away a stray tear that had escaped her eye.
"I try to be," Maren answered, her voice trembling slightly.
Dorian shifted his gaze, his cold, perceptive eyes scanning her delicate features. The fierce loyalty and quiet, mutual affection she had displayed was a rare, precious commodity in Dorian's dark, violent world.
"Are you in pain, Maren?" Dorian asked, his voice a low, mesmerizing rumble.
"No, sir," Maren answered softly, her elegant posture unwavering even as she sat in the chair. "I am perfectly fine now that I have this back." She tapped the small device behind her ear.
"Will you accompany me to my study?" Dorian asked, holding her gaze with an intensity that sent a sudden, warm flutter through Maren’s chest. "Is there much we still need to discuss regarding the events of tonight?"
"Yes, Mr. Hartwell," Maren replied, her rosy cheeks flushing slightly under his intense focus.
May you like
Dorian offered his hand. Maren took it, feeling the rough texture of his tattoos against her soft skin. He gently helped her to her feet, watching as the beautiful housemaid stood tall beside him. The impending war with the Ward syndicate loomed over him, but for the first time in months, his house finally felt like a home again.
"Shall we prepare for what comes next?" Dorian asked the empty room, turning to lead her toward the secure wing of the mansion.
