Chapter 5
Garrett stood up straight, lifting Ben effortlessly into his arms, keeping the boy tucked securely against his broad shoulders. He turned his attention back to Hannah.
"Are your hands still bleeding, Hannah?" Garrett asked quietly, his perceptive eyes searching her delicate, expressive face, and then dropping to the stark white bandages covering her fingers.
"They have stopped, sir," Hannah answered, her voice trembling slightly as she kept her hands folded over her white apron. "But... I know what just happened. I know the Voss family will come for you because we spoke against her."
"Do you believe I would allow a woman who tortures my family to remain in my home out of fear of her father?" Garrett asked, a flicker of profound, protective warmth entering his cold eyes as he looked at her.
"I didn't know what to expect, Mr. Whitmore," Hannah whispered, her expressive eyes wide with residual fear. "I just knew Ben was crying for the glass. When she told me to use my hands... it broke my heart to see him so afraid."
"Did you think a monster would punish the only person with the courage to bleed for my son?" Garrett asked gently.
He didn't walk away. He stood there, 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, Hannah?" Garrett asked, his gaze lingering on her beautiful face. "Do you think I trust anyone else in this house to tend to him tonight?"
"I will come," Hannah said softly, the reality of her new position settling heavily upon her.
"Are you prepared for the war that begins tomorrow?" Garrett 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. Garrett walked silently down the hall, carrying Ben’s exhausted weight effortlessly. Hannah walked a half-step behind them, her black maid dress swishing softly. Heavy, armed guards nodded respectfully as they passed, their eyes widening in absolute shock as they registered the housemaid walking the private halls with the boss.
They reached the heavy oak double doors of Ben's nursery. Garrett pushed them open, stepping into the massive room bathed in the soft glow of bedside lamps. He gently lowered Ben onto the edge of the large, silk-draped bed.
"Will you help him change into his pajamas, Hannah?" Garrett asked softly, looking over his shoulder.
"Right away, sir," Hannah said, moving quickly to assist the tired five-year-old.
While Hannah gathered fresh, soft garments, Garrett remained by the bed. 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 fully. He knelt beside the bed, holding Ben’s small hands between his own heavily tattooed ones, offering a silent, steadying strength to the boy who had spent the evening in emotional terror.
An hour later, Ben was scrubbed clean, dressed in thick, warm cotton pajamas. He was tucked securely beneath heavy down comforters. The exhaustion of the evening finally overtook him, and he fell into a deep, profound sleep.
Hannah stood near the door, her bandaged hands folded neatly over her white apron. She watched the mafia boss—a man feared across the entire eastern seaboard—gently stroke his son’s hair with a tenderness that defied his ruthless reputation.
Garrett stood up slowly, the tension returning to his broad shoulders. He turned and walked over to Hannah, stopping just a few feet away. His cold, perceptive eyes searched her delicate, expressive face.
"How long have you suspected she was being cruel to my son?" Garrett asked, his deep voice a low rumble in the quiet bedroom.
"I never suspected she would do something so vicious, sir," Hannah answered, her voice barely a whisper, afraid to wake the sleeping child. "But she was always cold to him when you weren't looking. She would send him away, tell him he was a bother. When I heard her tell Ben that dropping a glass meant I had to bleed... I just felt something was profoundly wrong."
"Did you consider the danger you were putting yourself in by crossing her in front of the entire commission?" Garrett asked, the short stubble on his jaw catching the lamplight.
"I only considered that a little boy was crying, and you were marrying his tormentor," Hannah said, her expressive eyes holding his gaze with surprising defiance. "I couldn't walk away from that."
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"Do you realize you have just handed me the key to saving my son's spirit?" Garrett asked, his gaze intensifying, a dark, terrifying warmth bleeding into his cold eyes.
"I just told you the truth, Mr. Whitmore," Hannah breathed, her heart fluttering wildly at the dangerous intensity radiating from him.
