Estelle Shaw reached swiftly into the front pocket of Liora's crisp white apron

The profound, ringing silence of the grand dining room settled heavily over the remaining three figures. The cascading crystal chandeliers continued to cast their warm golden light over the abandoned gold-rimmed porcelain and half-empty crystal wine glasses. The opulent space, designed for celebration, now felt like a war room.

Cameron stood silently for a moment, his broad shoulders rising and falling with a slow, controlled breath. The betrayal was absolute, the upcoming syndicate war with Estelle’s father inevitable, but the immediate, toxic sickness within his home had been surgically removed. Now, he had to secure his son.

He turned his body, his polished leather shoes pivoting seamlessly on the thick rug, and walked toward the two figures remaining by the head table.

Liora was kneeling on the floor, holding Milo tightly in her arms. The sophisticated black maid dress contrasted sharply with the boy’s formal dinner jacket. Milo had buried his face in the crook of Liora’s neck, his small body trembling from the shouting and the sudden violence of Estelle’s removal. Liora was gently stroking the child's hair, her softly oval face etched with deep, maternal relief.

Cameron stopped beside them, his imposing, masculine frame casting a protective shadow over the housemaid and his son.

"Are you unharmed, Milo?" Cameron asked, his deep voice softening significantly, losing its lethal, interrogative edge.

Milo turned his head, his fair, rosy cheeks stained with fresh tears. He looked at the towering mafia boss, his eyes searching for reassurance. "I'm sorry, Daddy. Are you going to be mad at me?"

"Would I ever be angry with you for telling me the truth about that game?" Cameron asked, reaching out to gently cup the boy’s cheek.

Milo sniffled, leaning into his father's large, tattooed hand. "No."

"Are you a brave boy?" Cameron asked, his thumb brushing away a tear.

"Yes," Milo nodded, his small chin trembling.

Cameron shifted his gaze to Liora. The beautiful housemaid was watching him, her expressive brows drawn together in quiet empathy. She had risked her job, her physical safety, and her life by enduring the accusations of a mafia boss's fiancée with quiet dignity. The fierce loyalty and unspoken connection she had displayed was a rare, precious commodity in Cameron's dark, violent world.

"Are you injured, Liora?" Cameron asked, his cold, perceptive eyes scanning her delicate features.

"No, Mr. Ashford," Liora answered softly, her elegant posture unwavering even as she knelt on the floor. "I am perfectly fine."

"Will you take Milo up to the secure wing and stay with him until I come for him?" Cameron asked, holding her gaze with an intensity that sent a sudden, warm flutter through Liora’s chest.

"Yes, Mr. Ashford," Liora replied, her rosy cheeks flushing slightly under his intense focus.

Cameron stood up, watching as the beautiful housemaid took his son's hand and led him out of the luminous dining room through a discrete service door. The impending war with the Shaw syndicate loomed over him, but for the first time in a year, his house finally felt like a home again.