Chapter 9
Esme’s breath caught in her throat at the touch of his hand. The rough, tattooed skin of his knuckles against her delicate cheekbone sent a jolt of electricity straight to her core. She stared up at Dorian, completely paralyzed by the intensity in his cold, observant eyes. The air in the subterranean vault suddenly felt impossibly thick.
"You... you can't protect everyone, Mr. Whitlock," Esme stammered, her heart hammering wildly against her ribs. She was acutely aware of her sophisticated black maid dress, of her neatly tied white apron, and how drastically out of place she was in the violent, blood-soaked world of a mafia boss.
"Have I ever failed to protect what I claim as mine?" Dorian asked, his voice dropping to a low, intimate rumble that vibrated through the steel room.
Before Esme could process the massive, terrifying implications of his words, a deep, concussive boom echoed from above. The reinforced ceiling of the vault trembled, sending a fine dusting of concrete powder raining down on them. The muffled, staccato rhythm of heavy automatic gunfire immediately followed, sounding much closer than before.
Caleb whimpered, hiding his face in his father's neck. "Are the bad men breaking in, Dad?"
"Would I ever let a bad man near you?" Dorian asked softly, pressing a kiss to the boy's dark hair.
He turned his head toward Marcus, who was white-knuckling his weapon by the door. "Has the eastern perimeter fallen, Marcus?"
"Sounds like they breached the main gates with explosives, Boss," Marcus grimly reported. "Vale must have called in favors from the northern families. We are vastly outnumbered. If they get into the mansion corridors, it's going to be a bloodbath."
"Are my men holding the grand staircase?" Dorian asked, his posture instantly straightening, the tender moment with Esme vanishing beneath the armor of a wartime commander.
"For now," Marcus said. "But we need to lock this vault down. We cannot risk them finding the access hatch."
Dorian looked back at Esme. Her heart-shaped face was pale, her expressive brows drawn tight in sheer terror. She reached out, instinctively resting her hand on Caleb's small back to offer comfort.
"Are you afraid, Esme?" Dorian asked, his cold eyes searching her face.
"Yes," Esme answered honestly, her voice barely a whisper over the sounds of the distant gunfire. "I am terrified."
"Do you trust me to end this?" Dorian asked.
"Yes," Esme breathed, realizing with startling clarity that she meant it. Despite the violence, despite the terrifying power he wielded, Dorian Whitlock was the only source of true safety she had ever known.
"Marcus, will you seal this vault from the inside and not open it under any circumstances until I return?" Dorian ordered, gently lowering Caleb back into Esme's arms.
"Boss, you can't go back up there alone!" Marcus protested. "It's a suicide mission!"
"Did I ask for your tactical assessment, Marcus?" Dorian inquired, his tone absolute and unyielding.
May you like
He pulled a heavy, suppressed pistol from the holster at his waist and checked the chamber. He looked at Esme one last time, the loose strands of hair on his forehead casting dark shadows over his eyes.
"Will you wait for me?" Dorian asked.
