Chapter 9
The dust from the retreating SUVs slowly settled back onto the quiet cemetery grass. The bright, airy light of the afternoon returned, washing away the adrenaline and terror of the standoff. Tristan’s men silently lowered their rifles, maintaining their perimeter but easing their aggressive postures.
Sage stood trembling in the sunlight. Her hands released their desperate grip on Tristan’s overcoat. She looked up at the movie-star handsome mafia boss, her expressive brows drawn together in overwhelming disbelief and profound gratitude.
"You were willing to start a war for me," Sage whispered, her American accent fragile and awestruck. "You were willing to die for me."
"Did you think I would let them take you?" Tristan asked, reaching out to gently touch her arm, grounding her with his solid, masculine warmth.
"But Arthur Ames is so powerful," Sage replied, her softly oval face turned up toward him. "He will destroy everything you have built. I am just a housemaid, Tristan. I am not worth your empire."
"Is an empire worth ruling if the king abandons his honor?" Tristan asked, his deep, low voice vibrating with absolute sincerity.
He stepped closer to her, the distance between them vanishing. The refined artistic tattoos on his hand reached up, his long fingers gently brushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear. His extremely short stubble cast a rugged shadow across his angular jawline.
"Do you believe you are 'just a maid' to me, Sage?" Tristan asked quietly.
Sage’s heart hammered against her ribs, a completely different kind of adrenaline flooding her veins. The way he looked at her—with cold, perceptive eyes that held a burning, protective fire exclusively for her—was intoxicating. She had always admired him from afar, silently observing the lonely, powerful man who ruled the mansion, but she had never dared to dream he saw her as an equal.
"I don't know what I am to you," Sage admitted honestly, her rosy cheeks flushing a deep, beautiful pink.
"Will you allow me to show you?" Tristan asked.
Sage didn't have the breath to answer. She simply nodded, her expressive eyes locked onto his.
Tristan leaned down, his broad shoulders blocking out the sun. He kissed her. The kiss was not rough or violent, but deeply passionate and overwhelmingly masculine. It carried the weight of the protection he had offered and the quiet adoration he had harbored for her elegance and grace. Sage closed her eyes, her slender figure leaning into his solid, immovable frame, returning the kiss with all the fierce emotion she had held back.
When they finally parted, the air between them was electric, buzzing with the soft elegant warmth of the luminous afternoon.
Tristan looked down at her, a rare, genuine smile touching the corners of his mouth. "Are you ready to go home?"
"Is it safe to go back?" Sage asked, leaning her head against his chest, listening to the steady, powerful beat of his heart.
"Do you think Arthur Ames will survive the night after threatening you?" Tristan asked, his voice returning to a low, lethal purr.
He pulled out his encrypted smartphone, dialing his command center back at the mansion.
"Are the tactical teams deployed?" Tristan asked into the phone.
"Yes, Mr. Lockwood," the voice on the other end confirmed. "The Ames warehouses on the docks have been secured. We are moving on his lieutenants now."
"Will you ensure Arthur Ames is greeted when he returns to his estate?" Tristan asked.
"He won't make it inside his front door, sir."
Tristan hung up the phone. He had officially launched the war, striking first and striking lethally. He turned his attention back to Sage, offering her his arm.
"Shall we return to the city?" Tristan asked.
May you like
"Yes," Sage smiled, slipping her hand through his arm.
They walked together across the bright, sun-drenched grass, moving away from the grave and toward the waiting armored SUV, the mafia boss and the woman who had unknowingly conquered his heart.
