Chapter 7
The tranquility of the staff quarters was shattered the following morning by the violent reality of the world Duncan controlled.
The bright morning sun flooded the estate, but the atmosphere was thick with tension. Duncan sat in his private study, his suit jacket discarded, his dress shirt unbuttoned at the collar. The artistic tattoos on his neck flexed as he stared down at the sprawling mahogany desk. Spread across the surface were security photographs and encrypted financial ledgers.
His most trusted capo, a heavily scarred man named Silas, stood rigidly before the desk.
"Felice didn't just pack her bags and leave, Boss," Silas reported, his American accent gravelly and tense. "Her father, Don Moretti, took the broken engagement as a direct declaration of war. He’s pulled his men from the docks. They've barricaded the southern supply routes."
"Let them barricade," Duncan said slowly, keeping his volume low. The controlled pauses between his words carried a lethal, freezing weight. "If Moretti wants to bleed money. To protect a daughter who starves children. Let him bleed."
"It's not just the supply routes, Duncan," Silas warned, stepping closer to the desk. "We intercepted a communication from their camp an hour ago. Felice told her father about the boy. She told them you have a bastard heir living in the staff quarters."
Duncan’s cold, sharp eyes snapped up to meet Silas’s gaze. The air in the study turned instantly to ice.
"She told them about Leo," Duncan whispered, his voice vibrating with pure, unadulterated danger.
"Yes, Boss. Moretti sees the boy as a vulnerability. A way to hurt you. He’s put a bounty on the kid and the maid. A million dollars for whoever brings them to his estate."
Duncan stood up. The sheer masculine power radiating from his frame was suffocating. He walked slowly around the desk, his polished leather shoes clicking against the hardwood floor.
"Move Anwen and the boy. Into the master suite. Immediately," Duncan commanded, his tone leaving absolutely no room for debate. "Place a four-man armed detail outside the door. Nobody enters without my direct authorization."
"Understood, Boss," Silas nodded quickly.
"And Silas," Duncan added, stopping right in front of the capo. "Gather the strike team. We are not waiting for Moretti to make a move on my family."
"We're hitting them first?" Silas asked, a predatory grin touching his scarred face.
"We are going to eradicate them," Duncan stated coldly. "Every warehouse. Every front business. Every safe house. By midnight, I want the Moretti name to be nothing but a memory in this city."
As Silas rushed out of the study to mobilize the men, Duncan turned toward the window, looking out over the sprawling, brightly lit estate. His life had been a series of calculated risks and cold executions, but this was different. This was no longer just business. He had blood to protect.
He walked out of the study and made his way up the grand, sweeping staircase toward the master wing. He needed to ensure they were safe before the violence began.
When he reached the heavy oak doors of the master suite, he found Anwen pacing nervously in the center of the lavish room, her white maid's apron discarded, wearing only the fitted black dress. Leo was sitting on the massive king-sized bed, happily playing with a new set of toy cars Duncan had ordered that morning.
Anwen rushed forward the moment he entered, her beautiful, fair face pale with anxiety. "Duncan, your men just rushed us up here. They gave Leo a bulletproof vest. What is happening?"
Duncan reached out, his tattooed hands gently gripping her shoulders. "You are safe here, Anwen. But I need to leave for a few hours. There is a threat to the family, and I must handle it."
"A threat?" Anwen gasped, her eyes darting toward her son. "Is it Felice's family? Are they coming for him?"
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"They will never reach him," Duncan promised, his voice a low, deeply reassuring rumble. "I am ending this today. Stay in this room. Do not open the doors."
He leaned in, his lips brushing softly against her forehead—a shockingly tender, romantic gesture from a man made of ice and violence. "I will come back for you."
