Chapter 7
He didn't wait for her to answer. Adrian turned his head slightly, his gaze sweeping over the four heavily armed guards stationed near the salon doors.
"Are you men going to secure this traitor, or must I break her legs myself before we walk downstairs?" Adrian asked, his command absolute.
Two massive enforcers stepped forward instantly, moving with terrifying, synchronized efficiency. They grabbed Bianca roughly by the arms, entirely ignoring the expensive fabric of her luxurious emerald gown.
"Get your hands off me!" Bianca screamed as they dragged her backward toward the service corridor. "I am Bianca Rowe! I am going to be the lady of this house! Adrian, call them off!"
"Take her to the holding cells in the sub-basement," Adrian commanded, his voice completely devoid of emotion. "Ensure the temperature is dropped, and that she is stripped of all jewelry and communication devices."
"You are a dead man, Adrian!" Bianca wailed as they hauled her through the heavy doors. "You hear me? You are a dead man!"
"We will see," Adrian murmured to the empty room.
The heavy service doors slammed shut, instantly cutting off Bianca’s frantic, echoing screams. The grand salon was plunged back into a profound, ringing silence. The towering Christmas tree continued to sparkle with golden lights and crimson ribbons, a surreal, festive backdrop to the brutal mafia justice that had just been executed.
Adrian stood perfectly still for a long moment, the adrenaline of the confrontation slowly ebbing from his system, leaving behind a profound, aching exhaustion. He had defended the woman who had quietly captured his heart and protected his daughter from a horrifying trauma. But the political fallout with the Rowe family would inevitably ignite a massive war in the coming days. Bianca's father, a powerful underboss with deep ties to the eastern ports, would not let the imprisonment of his daughter go unanswered. Blood would inevitably spill on the snow before the new year.
Adrian let out a slow, controlled breath. He unbuttoned his suit jacket, rolling his broad shoulders to release the coiled tension. He looked at the polished silver ice chest, a fierce, protective rage continuing to burn in his chest. He needed to see his daughter. He needed to ensure the damage wasn't permanent.
He turned and strode purposefully out of the grand salon, ascending the marble staircase two steps at a time. His polished shoes were silent on the thick carpet as he headed straight for his private quarters on the second floor.
He approached the heavy wooden door of the master suite. Two enforcers stood guard, their hands resting on their holstered weapons. They nodded respectfully as the boss approached.
"Is the perimeter secure?" Adrian asked, his deep voice carrying a quiet urgency.
"Yes, Boss. No one has entered or exited the wing," the lead guard confirmed, stepping aside to open the heavy door for him.
Adrian stepped into his private quarters. The room was bathed in the soft, warm glow of a roaring fireplace. Maisie was sitting on the thick Persian rug in her red velvet pinafore, looking small and fragile. Sitting on the floor right beside her, speaking in a low, soothing voice, was Elise Mercer.
The maid had removed her rumpled white apron, folding it neatly over her lap. Her black dress was still creased, but her delicate features radiated a fierce, protective warmth. She was gently drying the shivering kitten with a soft towel. As Adrian entered, Elise immediately stood up, smoothing her skirt, her expressive eyes darting to his face to read the outcome of the confrontation downstairs.
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"Daddy!" Maisie cried, jumping up and running across the room.
Adrian dropped to one knee, catching his daughter perfectly as the girl threw her small arms around his broad shoulders. He buried his face in Maisie's soft curls, closing his eyes tightly, inhaling the innocent scent of his child amidst a world of violence.
