Chapter 8
The grand dining room, now devoid of its dangerous guests, felt vast and strangely intimate. The cascading crystal chandeliers continued to cast their soft elegant warmth over the three of them. Dante sat heavily in his chair, the adrenaline of the confrontation fading, leaving the dull, throbbing ache of his healing leg in its wake. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the carved walnut table, rubbing his temples with his highly tattooed hands.
"Can you bring me a glass of scotch, Mara?" Dante asked, his deep voice carrying a heavy exhaustion. "Or is it too much to ask of you after the evening you've endured?"
"Of course, sir. Right away," Mara said softly. Her sophisticated black dress swished as she moved gracefully to the ornate crystal decanter resting on a nearby side buffet. She poured a generous measure of the amber liquid into a heavy glass, her hands finally steadying.
She walked back to his side and gently placed the glass before him.
"Thank you," Dante said, picking up the glass and taking a slow sip. He looked at her over the rim. "Did you truly realize the danger you were putting yourself in when you refused to hand me that cane?"
"I only knew that if you stood up, you would fall," Mara answered, her expressive eyes meeting his with a quiet, undeniable sincerity. "I couldn't let you fall, Mr. Ashford."
"Do you know what she would have done to you if I hadn't believed you?" Dante inquired, the reality of Cressida's vindictive nature hanging over them.
"I knew she would try to hurt me," Mara admitted, her vulnerability shining through her careful, polished demeanor. "But I also knew that you are a man who sees the truth. I trusted you to see it."
Dante stared at her, deeply moved by her unwavering faith in him. The quiet mutual affection they had harbored in stolen glances and brief conversations over the past year had just crystallized into something unbreakable.
"Leo," Dante said, turning to his son. "Are you tired, my boy?"
"A little bit," Leo admitted, rubbing his eyes. The excitement and fear of the evening were catching up to his small frame.
"Mara, would you mind escorting him up to his room?" Dante asked. "Will you make sure the guards are stationed directly outside his door tonight?"
"I will see to it personally, sir," Mara promised, extending her hand to the young boy. "Come along, Leo. Let's get you ready for bed."
Leo hopped down from his velvet chair and took her hand. They walked together toward the heavy mahogany doors, their figures framed by the luminous, bright colors of the hallway beyond.
Dante sat alone in the silence, staring at the sabotaged wooden cane resting on the table. The deep cut was a glaring reminder of his own blind spot. He had allowed a viper into his home for the sake of a syndicate alliance.
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"How could I have been so blind?" Dante whispered to the empty room, swirling the scotch in his glass.
He knew the answer. He had been distracted by the business, by the injury, and by his own refusal to see the darkness in the woman he had chosen. But as he thought of the gentle housemaid who had risked everything to protect him, a new, fierce resolve settled into his chest.
