Chapter 7
The sudden, intense focus of the mafia boss sent a jolt of heat through Coralie’s veins. The sixty guests remaining in the room were still holding their breath, waiting for the lockdown to end, but Emrys seemed entirely unconcerned with their presence. He walked slowly toward the beautiful housemaid, his polished leather shoes crunching softly on the scattered glass.
“I am fine, sir,” Coralie answered, her voice steady despite the rapid pounding of her heart. She smoothed the pristine white apron of her maid dress, hyper-aware of the dirt and chaos surrounding them. “I was not touched.”
Emrys stopped just two feet away from her. He looked down at her delicate features, his dark eyes searching her expressive face for any sign of hidden fear. His gaze dropped to her hands, remembering the forceful, flawless elbow strike she had delivered to Dashiell’s abdomen.
“Where did a gentle woman like you learn to strike a man with such devastating precision?” Emrys asked, his voice dropping into a low, intimate register meant only for her.
Coralie’s fair, rosy cheeks flushed deeply. She lowered her eyes for a brief moment before looking back up at him with a quiet, fierce defiance.
“I grew up in a neighborhood where waiting for a rescue was a luxury we couldn't afford,” Coralie said softly. “You learn to protect yourself. And you learn to protect the people who matter to you.”
The unspoken weight of her words hung heavily in the bright, luminous air. She had just admitted, in a room full of dangerous people, that the mafia boss mattered to her.
Emrys’s sharp jawline tightened, but the hard, terrifying edges of his face softened into something profoundly tender. He reached out with his uninjured left hand. He didn't touch her face or her hair; instead, he gently took her small hand in his, the artistic tattoos on his fingers stark against her pale skin.
“Did you know how incredibly reckless it was to assault an armed man to protect me?” Emrys asked, his thumb lightly brushing across her knuckles.
“I didn't think about it, sir,” Coralie whispered, her breath hitching at the contact. “I just saw him hurting you, and I couldn't let it happen.”
“Do you place so little value on your own life, Coralie, or do you simply possess a courage these men lack entirely?” Emrys asked, his dark eyes burning with an intense, quiet affection that he no longer tried to hide.
Before Coralie could answer, a loud, frantic pounding echoed from the heavy oak doors of the ballroom. The lockdown was still in effect, and the enforcers guarding the exits raised their weapons.
“Boss, it’s the perimeter guards!” an enforcer shouted from the door. “They’re demanding entry. They say it’s an absolute emergency.”
Emrys did not let go of Coralie’s hand. He simply turned his head, his commanding presence instantly filling the room once more.
“Open the doors,” Emrys commanded.
The heavy deadbolts were thrown back. A breathless guard rushed into the room, his dark suit dusted with dirt. He stopped a few feet away from Emrys, panting heavily.
“Sir, we have a massive problem,” the guard reported frantically. “Dashiell wasn't acting alone. We just intercepted a heavily armed convoy approaching the southern gates. It’s her family. The bride’s family is marching on the estate.”
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Emrys’s eyes narrowed into dangerous slits. Dashiell had claimed her family was planning a hostile takeover. It seemed the treacherous cousin had been telling the truth about one thing.
“Are they demanding her return, or are they here to slaughter us all?” Emrys asked softly.
