Chapter 6
Juliette's frantic, desperate screams echoed down the long, marble corridor as she was dragged toward the heavy mahogany doors. The doors slammed shut with a definitive, echoing thud, sealing the drawing room in a profound, heavy silence.
Dominic turned his attention back to the room. He looked at the fifty guests who were staring at him with wide, terrified eyes. The festive evergreen garlands and the sparkling Christmas tree felt entirely absurd against the backdrop of an exposed manipulation plot.
"Are you all waiting to unwrap gifts, or have you lost the holiday spirit?" Dominic asked the crowd, his deep voice carrying a cold, dismissive edge.
The spell broke. The elite guests scrambled for the exits, eager to escape the unpredictable wrath of the mafia boss. Heels clicked frantically against the cream marble floor as they hurried out, leaving their untouched champagne glasses and half-wrapped presents behind. Within minutes, the vast, luxurious room was entirely empty of civilians, leaving only a few trusted guards, Dominic, Clara, and Owen.
Dominic let out a long, slow breath. The rigid tension in his broad shoulders relaxed by a fraction of an inch. He turned his full attention back to the woman and child standing behind him.
Clara was on her knees on the marble floor, her rumpled white apron pooling around her. She was holding Owen tightly to her chest, rocking slightly back and forth, consumed by a fresh, agonizing wave of relief and exhaustion. Owen was burying his face in her shoulder, overwhelmed by the sudden violence and shouting.
Dominic walked slowly to them. He dropped to one knee, completely ignoring the crease it put in his expensive tailored trousers. He reached out, his heavily tattooed hands gently enveloping Clara’s shaking shoulders.
"Clara," Dominic whispered, his voice losing the lethal edge it had carried moments before, softening into a quiet, intimate register. "I am so deeply sorry."
Clara looked up, her puffy, shadowed eyes meeting his. "She was going to throw me out, Mr. Crowne. She was going to take him away from me."
"I know," Dominic said, his own eyes burning with unshed emotion. "And she will pay for it. I swear to you on my life, she will never come near either of you again."
He stood up straight, lifting Owen effortlessly into his arms, keeping the boy tucked securely against his broad shoulders. He turned his attention back to Clara, offering her his hand.
"Come," Dominic said gently, pulling her to her feet. "We cannot stay in this room. The estate will be on lockdown within the hour, and the Shaw family will likely retaliate before dawn once they realize Juliette is missing."
"Where will I go, sir? I am just a maid," Clara whispered, looking down at her creased black dress.
"You are not a maid tonight, Clara," Dominic replied, his deep voice resolute. "You are under my absolute protection. You and Owen."
"Silas," Dominic called out to the capo standing near the doors. "Have a detail escort us to my private study. I want four men on the door at all times."
"Right away, Boss," Silas nodded, gesturing for his men to form a protective perimeter.
The journey through the opulent corridors of the mansion was a blur of frantic activity. Tactical enforcers, dressed in dark combat gear, were rapidly taking up positions by every window and entrance, transforming the luxurious estate into an impenetrable fortress. The warm, festive lights of Christmas Eve felt entirely out of place against the cold, metallic reality of weapons being loaded and radios crackling with secure comms.
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Dominic did not let go of Clara’s hand. He guided her through the chaos with a calm, absolute authority, his presence alone parting the sea of armed men. They reached the heavy oak doors of his private study located deep within the secure interior of the mansion.
He pushed the doors open and ushered her inside, locking the deadbolt behind them. The study was a sanctuary of dark wood, leather bindings, and soft, amber lighting. It was quiet here, insulated from the frantic preparations outside.
