Chapter 6
The next forty-eight hours were a masterclass in modern warfare. The Ashford estate remained locked down, the bright, airy colors of the mansion contrasting sharply with the intense, sleepless energy of the heavily armed tactical teams patrolling the perimeter. The engagement was broken, and Arthur Voss, Celina’s father, had declared a blood feud.
Lucian operated from his private study, the carved walnut paneling absorbing the frantic radio chatter of his capos. He stood behind his massive desk, his tailored suit jacket discarded, his dress shirt sleeves rolled up to reveal the full extent of the artistic tattoos covering his forearms.
"Have the Voss loyalists made a move on the southern ports?" Lucian asked into the encrypted phone resting on his desk.
"They attempted a breach at 0300 hours, Boss," his head of security, Marcus, replied through the speaker. "We repelled them. They took heavy losses. Arthur is bleeding cash trying to pay for mercenaries."
"Do mercenaries fight with the same conviction as men defending their homes?" Lucian asked, a dark, predatory smile touching his lips.
"No, sir, they do not," Marcus chuckled grimly. "The Voss syndicate is crumbling from the inside. Half their lieutenants are already asking for a parley."
"Will you inform them that I do not negotiate with men who follow a coward?" Lucian asked.
"Consider it done, Mr. Ashford."
Lucian ended the call. He poured himself a small measure of bourbon, the amber liquid catching the warm golden light from the desk lamp. He had spent his entire life building an impenetrable fortress, assuming the threats would always come from the outside. He had never considered that the most dangerous enemy would be sleeping in his own bed, poisoning his home from within.
A soft knock interrupted his thoughts.
"Enter," Lucian commanded.
The heavy door opened, and Della stepped into the study. She was no longer wearing the sophisticated black maid dress. Instead, she wore a simple, elegant ivory blouse and tailored slacks that she had been instructed to select from the guest wardrobes. The soft, elegant feminine proportions of her figure were highlighted perfectly. Her hair was still gathered in a neat braided bun, and her delicate cheekbones were flushed with a natural, rosy color.
"You asked to see me, Mr. Ashford?" Della asked softly, stepping into the luminous light of the room.
"Did I not instruct you to address me as Lucian when we are not in the presence of the staff?" Lucian asked, his deep voice a low, welcoming rumble.
"Yes, Lucian," Della corrected, a small, shy smile touching her lips. "Beatrice is resting comfortably. The new security detail is stationed outside her wing."
"Has she asked for anything else?" Lucian inquired, walking around the desk to lean against the edge, reducing the physical distance between them.
"Only that you join her for dinner again tonight," Della said. "She insists on making a roast."
"Will you ensure the kitchen provides her with whatever ingredients she requires?"
"Of course," Della nodded. She hesitated for a moment, her expressive brows drawing together. "Lucian... the staff is talking. They say the Voss family is going to attack the house directly."
"Does the chatter of frightened staff dictate the reality of our security?" Lucian asked smoothly.
"No, but... I am worried," Della admitted, looking up into his incredibly handsome, angular face. "Celina is vindictive. She knows the layout of the house. She knows where Beatrice's wing is."
Lucian’s sharply defined jawline tightened. The very thought of Celina attempting to harm his mother again sent a wave of cold, lethal fury through his veins.
"Do you believe I would allow that woman within a mile of this estate ever again?" Lucian asked quietly.
"No," Della answered honestly. "But people do crazy things when they are desperate."
"Will you accept a new position in this house, Della?" Lucian asked, abruptly shifting the subject, though his tone remained gentle.
Della blinked, confused. "A new position? Sir, I am happy being a housemaid. I don't need—"
"Did I ask if you were happy cleaning my floors?" Lucian interrupted, his cold, perceptive eyes locking onto hers.
"No, sir."
"Will you serve as my mother's personal companion, and answer only to me?" Lucian asked, leaning slightly down toward her, his thick, wavy hair falling perfectly over his forehead. "You will oversee her care, manage her schedule, and ensure no one isolates her again. Your salary will reflect your status as my most trusted confidant."
Della stared at him, overwhelmed by the sheer magnitude of the responsibility he was handing her. "I... I would be honored, Lucian."
"Will you begin immediately?" Lucian asked.
"Yes," Della smiled, a genuine, radiant expression that lit up her softly oval face.
Before Lucian could ask his next question, the heavy silence of the mansion was abruptly shattered.
A blaring, high-pitched security siren erupted through the halls, the sound vibrating violently through the carved walnut paneling. The warm golden light in the study flickered, immediately replaced by stark, pulsating red emergency strobe lights.
Della gasped, instinctually taking a step back as the alarms wailed.
Lucian’s demeanor changed in a microsecond. The gentle employer vanished, replaced instantly by the cold, lethal mafia king. His powerful shoulders squared, and his perceptive eyes narrowed into dangerous slits.
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He strode quickly to his massive mahogany desk and pressed a button on the intercom system.
"What is the situation at the perimeter?" Lucian demanded into the microphone, his deep voice slicing cleanly through the chaotic wail of the sirens.
