Chapter 7
"She was always very protective of the east wing corridors, sir," Diana answered, her voice barely a whisper, afraid to wake the sleeping woman. "She forbade the cleaning staff from lingering near the portraits. She claimed the antiques were too fragile to be dusted by anyone other than her personal assistant."
"Did you ever see her assistant carrying construction materials, or large amounts of food?" Vincent asked, the extremely short stubble on his jaw catching the lamplight.
"Not the assistant, sir," Diana said, her expressive brows drawing together in thought. "But... I did see Silas, the head of your perimeter security, bringing heavy duffel bags through the service entrance late at night several months ago. When I asked him if he needed help, he told me to mind my own business or he would have me fired."
Vincent’s jaw tightened into unyielding granite. The betrayal was not just in his bed; it was in the very ranks of the men sworn to protect him.
"Do you realize you have just handed me the key to tearing out the rot in my empire?" Vincent asked, his gaze intensifying, a dark, terrifying warmth bleeding into his cold eyes.
"I just told you what I saw, Mr. Crowne," Diana breathed, her heart fluttering wildly at the dangerous intensity radiating from him.
"Have you met many people in my world who speak the truth without a gun to their head, Diana?" Vincent inquired. He reached out, his refined, tattooed hand hovering for a fraction of a second before he gently tucked a loose strand of dark hair behind her ear, securing her French twist.
The touch sent a jolt of electricity straight to her core. Diana swallowed hard, looking up at his angular face. The danger surrounding them was absolute, but the safety she felt in his presence was undeniable.
Before Vincent could offer another question, the heavy, encrypted radio clipped to his belt crackled to life with sudden, violent static.
"Boss?" Marcus's gruff voice called out over the comms. "We have a major situation at the front gates."
Vincent did not flinch. He slowly pulled his hand away from Diana’s face, his posture instantly shifting back into that of a wartime commander. The brief moment of intimacy vanished, replaced by cold, calculating steel.
"Are the Voss convoys already here, Marcus?" Vincent asked into the radio.
"Yes, sir," Marcus reported, his voice tight with tension. "It's Victor Voss himself. He has thirty heavily armed men with him. He is demanding you hand over his daughter immediately, or they breach the walls."
Diana gasped, her hands flying to her mouth. The war had arrived faster than anyone anticipated. The consequences of opening that hidden door were now violently knocking on the front gates.
"Will you wait here and lock the door behind me?" Vincent asked, looking back at Diana.
"You can't go down there!" Diana pleaded in a harsh whisper, reaching out to grab his forearm. "They will kill you!"
"Do you think an army of cowards can break a fortress built by kings?" Vincent asked softly, looking down at her delicate fingers resting against his crisp white shirt.
"They have an army, Vincent," Diana said, dropping his formal title in her panic. "Did I start a war that will destroy this family?"
"Does a man ruin his house by cutting out a cancer?" Vincent inquired, a dark, terrifying warmth returning to his cold eyes. "Did you not simply force the poison into the light before it could finish us?"
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Diana swallowed hard, tears welling in her eyes. "Will you come back?"
"Have I ever failed to protect what belongs to me?" Vincent asked.
