Chapter 7
Hattie fled the room, her panicked, frantic sobs fading down the bright corridor as she rushed to pack the meager belongings she was permitted to keep. The sound of her departure brought a sudden, heavy quiet to the guest room. The bright video colors of the sunlight streaming through the windows finally felt warm again, untainted by her toxic presence.
Dominic let out a slow, deep sigh. The tension bled from his broad, muscular shoulders. He unbuttoned his tailored suit jacket and walked over to the plush armchair where his mother sat.
He dropped to one knee, bringing himself down to her eye level. The deeply masculine, terrifying Mafia boss vanished entirely, replaced by a devoted, heartbroken son.
"Ma, I am so sorry," Dominic whispered, his voice thick with a profound, uncharacteristic vulnerability. He reached out and gently took her frail, wrinkled hands in his own, pressing a soft kiss to her knuckles. "I had no idea. I swear to you, I didn't know they were doing this to you."
Donna offered him a weak, tired smile. Her fair, rosy cheeks were still damp with tears, but the absolute terror had left her eyes. She reached out with a trembling hand and gently cupped his sharply defined jawline.
"It's not your fault, Dominic," she murmured, her voice raspy but full of love. "They were very careful. They only did it when you were away on business, or locked in your study with the capos. They told me that if I complained to you, they would convince you to put me in a state home."
Dominic closed his eyes for a fraction of a second, fighting back a fresh wave of homicidal rage at the psychological torture his mother had endured.
"You are never leaving this house," Dominic promised fiercely, opening his cold, sharp eyes. "This is your home. You built this family alongside my father. No one will ever disrespect you again."
He stood up and turned to Elena. The fifty-five-year-old housekeeper was still standing near the dresser, wiping tears from her own eyes with the corner of her white apron.
"Elena," Dominic said, his tone shifting into one of deep, abiding respect.
"Yes, Mr. Coleman," she replied, straightening her posture.
"You tried to protect her today," Dominic noted, his American accent ringing with genuine gratitude. "You stepped between my mother and a man twice your size. You risked your position, and your safety, for my blood."
"She is a good woman, sir. She didn't deserve that," Elena said, her voice shaking slightly but holding firm.
"You are no longer the housekeeper of this estate," Dominic announced. Elena’s eyes widened in sudden fear, but Dominic quickly raised a hand to reassure her. "From this moment on, you are the Head of the Household. Your salary is tripled. You answer only to me. You will hire a new staff, and you will personally oversee the care and security of my mother. If anyone, regardless of their rank or bloodline, disrespects you or my mother, you come directly to me. Understood?"
Elena gasped, fresh tears of relief and shock spilling over her fair cheeks. "I understand, Mr. Coleman. Thank you. I will guard her with my life."
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"I know you will," Dominic nodded. He looked back at his mother. "Rest now, Ma. I have some family business to conclude downstairs."
Dominic turned and walked out of the bright, sunlit room, his polished leather shoes carrying him toward the dark, isolated depths of the estate. The traitors had been removed from the light, but the true interrogation was about to begin in the shadows.
