Chapter 6
The heavy doors clicked shut, plunging the vast, luminous dining hall into a profound, ringing silence. The cascading crystal chandeliers continued to cast their warm golden light over the abandoned gold-rimmed porcelain and half-empty wine glasses. The opulent space, designed for celebration, now felt entirely hollow.
Sterling 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 Clarissa’s father inevitable, but the immediate, toxic sickness within his home had been surgically removed.
He turned his body, his polished leather shoes pivoting seamlessly on the thick rug, and walked toward the two figures remaining by the table.
Delia was kneeling on the floor, holding Peter tightly in her arms. The sophisticated black maid dress contrasted sharply with the boy’s formal dinner suit. Peter had buried his face in the crook of Delia’s neck, his small body trembling from the shouting and the sudden violence of Clarissa’s removal. Delia was gently stroking the child's hair, her softly oval face etched with deep, maternal concern. She was breathing normally now, the crisis of her asthma attack averted, but the emotional toll was immense.
Sterling stopped beside them, his imposing, masculine frame casting a protective shadow over the housemaid and his son.
"Are you unharmed, Peter?" Sterling asked, his deep voice softening significantly, losing its lethal, interrogative edge.
Peter turned his head, his fair, rosy cheeks stained with fresh tears. He looked at his father, his eyes searching for reassurance. "I'm sorry, Daddy. I didn't mean to ruin the dinner."
"Would telling the truth to protect the people in this house ever be considered a crime?" Sterling asked, reaching out to gently cup his son’s cheek.
Peter sniffled, leaning into his father's large, tattooed hand. "No."
"Are you a brave boy?" Sterling asked, his thumb brushing away a tear.
"Yes, Daddy," Peter nodded, his small chin trembling.
Sterling shifted his gaze to Delia. The beautiful housemaid was watching him, her expressive brows drawn together in quiet empathy. She had risked her job and her physical safety to endure the torment of a mafia boss's fiancée. The loyalty and endurance she had displayed was a rare, precious commodity in Sterling's dark, violent world.
"Are you in pain, Delia?" Sterling asked, his cold, perceptive eyes scanning her delicate features.
"No, Mr. Voss," Delia answered softly, her elegant posture unwavering even as she knelt on the floor. "I am perfectly fine now. The medicine worked."
"Will you take Peter up to the nursery and stay with him until I come for him?" Sterling asked, holding her gaze with an intensity that sent a sudden, warm flutter through Delia’s chest.
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"Yes, Mr. Voss," Delia replied, her rosy cheeks flushing slightly under his intense focus.
Sterling stood up, watching as the beautiful housemaid took his son's hand and led him out of the luminous dining room. The impending war with the Vale syndicate loomed over him, but for the first time in a year, his house finally felt like a home again.
