Chapter 6
The air in the nursery hung heavy with the unspoken truths that had just been dragged into the light. Garrett looked down at Hannah, his observant eyes cataloging every detail of her face—the way her expressive eyes held his gaze, the faint flush on her cheeks, and the stark white bandages wrapped around her delicate fingers.
"Have you met many people in my world who speak the truth without a gun to their head, Hannah?" Garrett inquired. He reached out, his refined, tattooed hand hovering for a fraction of a second before he gently tucked a loose strand of dark hair behind her ear, securing her low bun.
The touch sent a jolt of electricity straight to Hannah's core. She swallowed hard, looking up at his angular face. The danger surrounding them was absolute, but the safety she felt in his presence was undeniable. The quiet, unspoken affection they had shared in stolen glances for months was finally bursting into the luminous light of the nursery.
"Is this real?" Hannah whispered, leaning almost imperceptibly into the warmth of his hand.
"Do I seem like a man who deals in illusions?" Garrett asked, his thumb gently tracing the line of her delicate cheekbone. "Have you not realized that you are the only light in this dark house?"
Before Hannah could answer, the heavy, encrypted radio clipped to Garrett's belt crackled to life with sudden, violent static. The spell was broken instantly.
"Boss?" Marcus's gruff voice called out over the comms. "We have a major situation at the front gates."
Garrett did not flinch. He slowly pulled his hand away from Hannah’s face, his posture instantly shifting back into that of a wartime commander. The brief moment of intimacy vanished, replaced by cold, calculating steel.
"Are the Voss convoys already here, Marcus?" Garrett asked into the radio.
"Yes, sir," Marcus reported, his voice tight with tension. "It's Victor Voss himself. He has thirty heavily armed men with him. He is demanding you hand over his daughter immediately, or they breach the walls."
Hannah gasped, her hands flying to her mouth. The war had arrived faster than anyone anticipated. The consequences of exposing Sienna were now violently knocking on the front gates.
"Will you wait here and lock the door behind me?" Garrett asked, looking back at Hannah.
"You can't go down there!" Hannah pleaded in a harsh whisper, reaching out to grab his forearm, ignoring the sting in her bandaged fingers. "They will kill you!"
"Do you think an army of cowards can break a fortress built by kings?" Garrett asked softly, looking down at her delicate fingers resting against his crisp white shirt.
"They have an army, Garrett," Hannah said, dropping his formal title in her absolute panic. "Did I start a war that will destroy this family?"
"Does a man ruin his house by cutting out a cancer?" Garrett inquired, a dark, terrifying warmth returning to his cold eyes. "Did you not simply force the poison into the light before it could finish my son?"
Hannah swallowed hard, tears welling in her expressive eyes. "Will you come back?"
"Have I ever failed to protect what belongs to me?" Garrett asked.
He gently pried her fingers from his arm, giving her hand a brief, reassuring squeeze before turning his broad shoulders toward the door. He slipped out into the hallway, the heavy oak door clicking shut behind him. Hannah immediately threw the deadbolt, pressing her back against the wood, her heart pounding a frantic rhythm alongside the sleeping child.
The grand foyer of the Whitmore estate was a cavernous space of polished marble and soaring archways, entirely devoid of the warmth present in the nursery above. The tiered crystal chandeliers were unlit, the only illumination coming from the harsh security floodlights outside bleeding through the tall windows.
Garrett descended the sweeping marble staircase with measured, deliberate steps. He rolled up his sleeves, revealing the intricate, artistic tattoos wrapping around his muscular forearms.
Standing in the center of the foyer, surrounded by six of Garrett’s heavily armed enforcers, was Victor Voss. Sienna’s father was a ruthless, aging capo, his face flushed with arrogant rage, his heavy wool overcoat looking out of place amidst the tactical gear of the guards.
"Where is my daughter, Whitmore?" Victor demanded, his voice echoing loudly in the cold space of the foyer. "You cannot hold a Voss hostage in your own home!"
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Garrett stopped on the final step, towering over the older capo. His cold, observant eyes analyzed Victor with clinical detachment, showing absolutely zero fear in the face of the angry patriarch.
"Do you believe you give orders in my home, Victor?" Garrett asked, his deep voice a low, terrifying rumble that seemed to shake the marble floors.
