Chapter 8
Felicia let out a ragged, humiliated sob as the guards began to drag her toward the heavy double doors. Her furious, terrified screams echoed through the bright, airy room, fading only when the doors slammed shut, plunging the dining hall back into a profound, ringing silence.
The bright, luminous colors of the dining hall felt like a stark, surreal backdrop to the devastating emotional resolution unfolding at the head of the table. Dorian stood perfectly still, his tailored midnight-blue suit an anchor of masculine authority in the chaotic aftermath. He took a slow, controlled breath, the tension bleeding out of his broad, powerful shoulders.
He turned his full attention back to the beautiful housemaid. The cold, terrifying edge of the Mafia boss softened considerably as he looked down at Lottie.
Lottie was crying softly, her face buried in her hands, her shoulders shaking beneath the sophisticated black maid dress. The relief of finally speaking the truth, combined with the crushing, overwhelming grief of her mother's death, had completely broken her formidable composure.
Dorian slowly stepped toward her. He reached out with his heavily tattooed hand, his fingers moving with profound, unexpected gentleness. He gently grasped her elbow, providing a steady, physical anchor in the spinning room.
"Are you able to walk, Lottie?" Dorian asked, his deep voice returning to a warm, comforting rumble.
Lottie sniffled, looking up at the tall, imposing man with wide, tear-filled eyes. She nodded slowly, wiping her face with the back of her hand.
"Will you allow my private driver to take you to the hospital immediately?" Dorian asked, looking deeply into her delicate features.
"Yes, Mr. Westbrook," Lottie replied, her American accent steadying as she drew a shaky breath. "Thank you. I need to see her."
"Do you understand the magnitude of the wrong committed against you tonight?" Dorian asked, his jaw clenching as he thought of the cruelty she had endured.
Lottie’s fair, rosy cheeks flushed a delicate pink under his intense, perceptive gaze. "I only wanted to be with her, sir. I didn't want to cause a scene."
"Is demanding the right to mourn a scene, or is it a fundamental human right?" Dorian questioned, bowing his head slightly in a profound gesture of respect. "Will you allow me to handle the funeral arrangements entirely at my expense?"
Lottie’s eyes widened in shock. "Sir, I couldn't possibly ask—"
"Did I ask if you wanted to pay for it, or did I ask if you would allow me to handle it?" Dorian interrupted gently, his questioning tone shifting into a formal, absolute decree.
"Yes, sir. Thank you," Lottie wept, overwhelmed by the unexpected, profound generosity.
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"Will you accompany me to my study before you leave?" Dorian inquired, his hand dropping back to his side. "Will you allow me to provide you with the necessary funds and security for your family during this time?"
Lottie nodded, her heart fluttering against her ribs. The sheer, deeply masculine power he projected was overwhelming, yet she felt entirely safe in his presence. She followed the towering Mafia boss out of the dining hall, realizing that her life had just irrevocably intertwined with the most dangerous man she had ever met.
