Halting instantly without spilling a single drop, Dominic immediately focused his attention on her

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, highlighting the untouched cup of poisoned tea still resting on the polished walnut table.

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

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.

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

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

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

Lewis 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 okay, Dad. Is she coming back?"

"Would I ever allow someone who threatens our family to return to this house?" Dominic asked, reaching out to gently cup the boy’s cheek.

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

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

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

Dominic shifted his gaze to Etta. 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 physically stopping a mafia boss from drinking poison and standing against a powerful socialite. The fierce loyalty she had displayed was a rare, precious commodity in Dominic's dark, violent world.

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

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

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

"Yes, Mr. Kincaid," Etta replied, her rosy cheeks flushing slightly under his intense focus.

Dominic 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 six months, his house finally felt like a home again.