Chapter 5
Freya swallowed hard, her heart pounding a frantic rhythm against her ribs. The sheer, overwhelming presence of the mafia boss standing before her with his child in his arms shattered every preconceived notion she had of him. He wasn't just a ruthless killer; he was a fiercely devoted father willing to burn his own empire to the ground to protect his own.
"I didn't know what to expect, Mr. Whitlock," Freya whispered, her expressive brows drawing together. "I just knew June couldn't carry that secret anymore. She has been crying in her room for months. When Cassandra smiled at her tonight... I thought the poor girl was going to break."
"Did you think a monster would punish the only person with the courage to comfort his daughter?" Rafael asked gently.
He didn't walk away. He stood there, holding his daughter, his towering masculine frame casting a long shadow in the golden light. The rigid boundaries of class, wealth, and danger had been completely obliterated in the span of a single evening.
"Will you accompany us upstairs, Freya?" Rafael asked, his gaze lingering on her softly heart-shaped face. "Do you think I trust anyone else in this house to watch over her tonight?"
"I will come," Freya said softly, the reality of her new position settling heavily upon her.
"Are you prepared for the war that begins tomorrow?" Rafael asked, turning his broad shoulders toward the heavy mahogany doors.
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. Rafael walked silently down the hall, carrying June effortlessly in his powerful arms. Freya walked a half-step behind him, her black maid dress swishing softly. Heavy, armed guards nodded respectfully as they passed, their eyes widening slightly as they registered the housemaid walking so closely with the boss.
They reached the heavy oak door of June’s nursery. Rafael pushed it open, stepping into the room bathed in the soft glow of a bedside lamp. He gently lowered June onto the large bed, careful not to jostle the exhausted girl.
"Will you help her change into her pajamas, Freya?" Rafael asked softly, looking over his shoulder.
"Yes, Mr. Whitlock," Freya said, moving quickly to assist the tired seven-year-old.
While Freya worked, Rafael remained by the window, looking out over the dark grounds of his estate. He removed his tailored suit jacket, draping it over a chair, then unbuttoned his crisp white shirt at the collar, revealing the artistic neck tattoo. He watched Freya interact with his daughter in the reflection of the glass, observing the gentle, maternal care she offered the broken child.
Twenty minutes later, June was dressed in soft cotton pajamas and tucked securely beneath thick comforters. The girl was asleep almost instantly, utterly exhausted by the emotional ordeal.
Freya stood near the door, her hands folded neatly over her white apron. She watched the mafia boss—a man feared across the entire eastern seaboard—gently stroke his daughter’s hair with a tenderness that defied his ruthless reputation.
Rafael stood up slowly, the tension returning to his broad shoulders. He turned and walked over to Freya, stopping just a few feet away. His cold, perceptive eyes searched her softly heart-shaped face.
"How long have you known what she did?" Rafael asked, his deep voice a low rumble in the quiet nursery.
"She only told me a week ago, sir," Freya answered, her voice barely a whisper. "She woke up from a nightmare screaming. When I went in to calm her, she just kept repeating what Cassandra told her about her mother's death. I didn't know if it was just a bad dream or a memory. But when she pushed the cake away tonight... the sheer terror in her eyes confirmed it."
"Did you consider the danger you were putting yourself in by crossing her in front of the entire commission?" Rafael asked, the extremely short stubble on his jaw catching the lamplight.
"I only considered that she was terrified," Freya said, her expressive brows drawing together. "I couldn't walk away from that."
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"Do you realize you are the only reason my daughter's spirit will not go unhealed?" Rafael asked, his gaze intensifying, a dark, terrifying warmth bleeding into his cold eyes.
"I just did what anyone should have done," Freya breathed, her heart fluttering wildly at his proximity.
