Chapter 5
Lucian stood up straight, his gaze sweeping over the exhausted housemaid. Her pale, rosy skin was washed out, the dark shadows under her eyes a stark testament to the three days of torment she had endured. He looked down at Noah, who was still standing bravely by her side, holding her hand.
"Are you alright, Noah?" Lucian asked quietly, his perceptive eyes searching his son's face.
"I'm okay, Daddy," Noah answered, his lower lip trembling slightly. "But Mommy is sick. The bad lady wouldn't let her sleep."
"I know, son," Lucian murmured, a fresh wave of cold fury igniting in his chest toward the woman currently being dragged to his basement. "But she is gone now. She will never hurt Elena again."
Lucian turned his attention back to Elena. She was swaying slightly in the chair, her body fighting a losing battle against the crushing weight of sleep deprivation.
"Will you allow me to help you upstairs, Elena?" Lucian asked gently. "Do you think I trust anyone else in this house to tend to you tonight?"
"I can walk, sir," Elena whispered, attempting to push herself up from the velvet chair.
Her legs gave out instantly. Before she could hit the cream marble floor, Lucian moved with terrifying, predatory speed. He caught her effortlessly, his broad shoulders absorbing her weight as he scooped her up into his arms. Her head fell naturally against his tailored dark suit, her breathing shallow and ragged.
"I have you," Lucian said, his voice a low, comforting rumble in her ear.
He held her securely against his chest, entirely ignoring the creased, rumpled state of her black maid dress against his expensive wool. He looked down at Noah.
"Come, Noah. Walk with me," Lucian instructed.
The six-year-old boy nodded, grabbing the edge of his father's suit jacket, and followed closely as Lucian carried the sleeping maid out of the grand dining hall.
The private west wing of the mansion was a stark contrast to the opulent, echoing dining hall. The corridors here were lined with plush carpets and warm, muted lighting, designed specifically to be a sanctuary. Lucian walked silently down the hall, carrying Elena’s exhausted weight effortlessly. Heavy, armed guards nodded respectfully as they passed, their eyes widening in absolute shock as they registered the mafia boss carrying a housemaid in his arms.
They reached the heavy oak double doors of Noah's nursery. Lucian pushed them open, stepping into the massive room bathed in the soft glow of bedside lamps.
"Noah, get into your pajamas and get into bed," Lucian commanded softly. "I will be right back."
"Okay, Daddy," the boy replied, rushing toward his adjoining bathroom.
Lucian carried Elena further down the hall, bypassing the staff quarters entirely, and approached the heavy mahogany doors of his own private master suite. He pushed the doors open, stepping into the cavernous room.
He walked directly to the massive, silk-draped king-sized bed and gently lowered Elena onto the mattress. She didn't stir, her exhaustion so profound that the movement barely registered. Lucian carefully removed her slightly askew white ruffled headband, setting it on the nightstand, and pulled the heavy down comforter over her shoulders.
He stood by the bed for a long moment, watching the steady rise and fall of her chest. The artistic tattoos on his hands flexed as he gripped the edge of the bed frame. The quiet, unspoken attachment they had shared over the past few months had just been thrust violently into the light. He had burned an alliance to the ground for her, and looking at her sleeping face, he knew he would do it a thousand times over.
Before Lucian could dwell on the shift in his reality, the heavy, encrypted radio clipped to his belt crackled to life with sudden, violent static. The spell was broken instantly.
"Boss?" Marcus's gruff voice called out over the comms. "We have a major situation at the front gates."
Lucian did not flinch. He slowly pulled away from the bed, his posture instantly shifting back into that of a wartime commander. The brief moment of intimacy vanished, replaced by cold, calculating steel.
"Are the Rowe convoys already here, Marcus?" Lucian asked into the radio.
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"Yes, sir," Marcus reported, his voice tight with tension. "It's Arthur Rowe himself. He has thirty heavily armed men with him. He is demanding you hand over his daughter immediately, or they breach the walls."
The war had arrived faster than anyone anticipated.
