Chapter 10
The revelation of the broader conspiracy settled over the bright, airy study like a heavy shroud. Lucinda sat sobbing in the leather chair, completely broken, realizing she had destroyed her life for a man who was actively planning to conquer her new family.
Malcolm did not offer her a single ounce of pity.
"Will you provide a full, written confession detailing Elias's involvement and your father's knowledge of the operation?" Malcolm asked coldly.
"Yes," Lucinda wept, burying her face in her manicured hands. "I'll tell you everything. Just please don't kill me."
"Will you be escorted to a private, highly secured facility in the Midwest, where you will remain until I decide otherwise?" Malcolm inquired, presenting his terms of exile.
"A prison?" Lucinda whimpered, her diamond earrings shaking.
"Is exile not a mercy for a murderer?" Malcolm asked.
He didn't wait for her to answer. He looked at the guards. "Will you take her away and secure the confession?"
"Yes, Boss," the guards nodded, hauling the weeping woman roughly to her feet and dragging her out of the luminous, golden warmth of the study.
Malcolm remained standing near the roaring fire. He took a slow, controlled breath, the tension bleeding out of his broad, powerful shoulders. He walked over to a hidden wall panel, pressing his thumb against a biometric scanner. The panel slid open to reveal a heavily stocked weapons cache.
He reached in and pulled out a sleek, dark sidearm, checking the magazine with practiced, terrifying efficiency. He slipped the weapon into the shoulder holster concealed beneath his tailored vest.
The heavy oak doors of the study clicked open again.
Wren Avery stood in the doorway, her sophisticated black maid dress pristine, her softly rounded face pale but resolute.
"Is my mother resting comfortably?" Malcolm asked, turning to look at the beautiful housemaid.
"She is asleep, sir. The doctor has cleared her, and there are two guards stationed outside her door," Wren replied softly.
"Will you stay in the residential wing tonight and ensure she is not disturbed?" Malcolm asked, walking slowly toward her. The cinematic light caught the loose strands of hair falling over his forehead, making him look like a dark, avenging knight.
"Of course, Mr. Whitford," Wren nodded. She looked at the weapon holstered under his arm, her expressive brows drawing together in concern. "Are you leaving the estate, sir?"
"Do I have a choice, when our enemies are marching on our borders?" Malcolm asked, a dark, terrifying determination settling into his perceptive eyes.
"Please be careful," Wren whispered, her heart hammering in her chest.
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"Have I ever failed to protect what belongs to me?" Malcolm asked, offering a rare, subtle smile that completely transformed his handsome face.
He stepped past her, walking out of the bright, airy sanctuary of the mansion and into the dark, violent night. The domestic treason had been eradicated, and the brave housemaid had secured his mother's life. Now, the Mafia boss was prepared to unleash hell to ensure his empire remained absolute. The war had officially begun.
