Chapter 7
The air in the grand foyer was thick with the metallic scent of impending violence. Victor Voss stared up at Garrett, his arrogant facade faltering for a fraction of a second beneath the younger boss's terrifying, unblinking stare. The six Whitmore enforcers surrounding them tightened their grips on their automatic weapons, waiting for a single, subtle nod from Garrett to paint the marble walls red.
"Release Sienna right now, or the alliance is dead, and we go to war," Victor spat, taking a step forward before Marcus’s massive hand slammed into his chest, stopping him dead in his tracks.
"Are you willing to die for a woman who tortures children and forces servants to bleed?" Garrett asked, his jaw settling into a sharp, uncompromising line.
Victor sneered, trying to maintain his bravado in front of his own men standing outside. "She was just securing her future! You are soft, Garrett! You are letting a crying child and a maid dictate the politics of the entire eastern seaboard!"
"Do you consider the premeditated abuse of my family to be mere politics?" Garrett inquired, stepping off the stairs and closing the distance between them until he was mere inches from Victor’s face.
"It's business!" Victor shouted, spit flying from his lips in a desperate attempt to reclaim control of the room. "And right now, business dictates that you hand her over before I burn this place down!"
"Shall we see how much your business is worth when it is buried in ashes?" Garrett asked softly.
He didn't wait for Victor to draw a weapon. Garrett moved with blinding speed, his tattooed hand closing like a steel vice around Victor's throat, lifting the older capo several inches off the floor.
"Did you think I would let you leave this house alive after what your blood tried to do to mine?" Garrett asked, his eyes burning with absolute, murderous intent.
The sound of weapons cocking echoed through the foyer, signaling the beginning of a bloody, uncompromising war. Garrett threw the older man backward, drawing his own suppressed weapon in a single, fluid motion as the grand foyer erupted into deafening violence. The marble shattered around them as the Voss enforcers opened fire, returning the deadly barrage from the Whitmore syndicate.
Upstairs, the sounds of the battle were muffled but unmistakably terrifying. Hannah sat on the floor of the nursery, her back pressed against the heavy oak door. She held a heavy brass candlestick she had taken from the mantle, her knuckles white beneath her bandages. Ben remained fast asleep, entirely exhausted, completely oblivious to the fact that an army of mafia hitmen were trying to burn his house down.
Hannah’s fitted black maid dress was covered in dust that had shaken loose from the ceiling. She squeezed her eyes shut, praying for the imposing mafia boss who had promised to protect them.
Suddenly, the heavy brass handle of the bedroom door rattled violently.
Hannah gasped, scrambling backward, raising the heavy brass candlestick above her head. "Who is it?" she cried out, her voice shaking with adrenaline.
"Are you unharmed, Hannah?" Garrett's deep, unmistakable voice filtered through the heavy wood.
Hannah sobbed in relief, immediately throwing the deadbolt and pulling the heavy oak door open.
Garrett stepped into the room. He looked like a god of war. His crisp white shirt was stained with soot and a few drops of blood, the sleeves rolled up to reveal his muscular, tattooed arms. The neat stubble on his jawline was dark with ash, and a nasty cut ran across his sharply defined jaw. Yet, his posture remained unbowed, and his cold, observant eyes swept the room instantly, finding her in the dim light.
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"You're bleeding," Hannah gasped, dropping the candlestick and rushing toward him.
"Is a little blood not the cost of cleaning house?" Garrett asked, catching her by the waist as she collided with his chest. His large, tattooed hand came up to rest gently on the back of her head, holding her close. The smell of gunpowder and expensive cologne enveloped her.
