His restless fussing fading as she gently hummed four quiet, tender notes into the lavish dining hall

The transition from the bright, luminous dining hall to the cool, dark expanse of the estate grounds was jarring. The night air was crisp, carrying the scent of damp earth and blooming jasmine. Julian walked with purposeful, predatory strides, his polished leather shoes crunching softly against the gravel path. Elise moved gracefully beside him, her slender figure navigating the uneven terrain with ease while keeping little Miles securely bundled against her chest in the sophisticated black maid dress.

A heavy contingent of Julian's most trusted, heavily armed security guards flanked them, their flashlights cutting through the darkness, illuminating the winding path toward the isolated guesthouse.

"Did she ever speak of how she survived the water?" Julian asked, breaking the quiet silence of their march. His deep voice carried a profound, aching vulnerability.

"She said the current pushed her away from the wreckage, sir," Elise answered softly, ensuring her American accent remained clear. "She managed to cling to a piece of driftwood until she washed ashore miles down the coast. Miss Prescott’s men found her at a local clinic the next morning. They drugged her and brought her here instead of a hospital."

"Has she suffered greatly under Natalia's supervision?" Julian inquired, his sharply defined jawline clenching as he envisioned the torment his wife had endured.

"She has been kept in strict isolation, sir," Elise reported, her expressive brows drawing together in sorrow. "Miss Prescott only allowed bread and water, and forbade the medical staff from tending to her injuries. I began sneaking her portions from the kitchen two weeks ago when I realized she was starving."

"Do you understand that you have saved my life by saving hers?" Julian asked, stopping for a fraction of a second to look deeply into the housemaid's eyes.

"I only did what was right, Mr. Blackthorne," Elise murmured, her fair, rosy cheeks flushing slightly in the moonlight. "She is a very kind woman. All she talked about was how much she missed you and Miles."

"Shall we end her suffering tonight?" Julian asked, turning his gaze toward the small, dilapidated stone cottage that loomed ahead in the shadows of the towering oak trees.

Two of Natalia's loyal guards stood stationed outside the heavy wooden door of the guesthouse. When they saw the towering, formidable figure of the Mafia boss approaching with his private army, their fair skin paled dramatically. They nervously raised their hands, stepping away from the entrance.

"Do you answer to my former fiancée, or do you answer to the man who owns the ground you stand upon?" Julian asked, his voice dropping into a register of pure, concentrated ice.

"We answer to you, Boss," the lead guard stammered, frantically unlocking the heavy iron deadbolt on the cottage door and swinging it wide open.

"Will you leave your weapons on the ground and walk off my property, or will my men carry you off in bags?" Julian inquired, not even looking at them as they hastily disarmed themselves and fled into the night.

Julian stood at the threshold of the dark, damp cottage. The smell of mold and despair wafted from the interior, a violent contrast to the soft elegant warmth of the mansion he had just left. He took a slow, deep breath, bracing himself for the reunion he had believed was entirely impossible.