Chapter 8
Maisie Rowan stood firm on the concrete stairs, her black maid dress blending into the shadows, the bright white of her apron and collar catching the dim basement lighting. Despite the horrific revelations echoing in the cold air, her softly oval face remained resolute. She tightened her grip on Eddie, who was still safely tucked against her shoulder, his face buried in her neck.
“I will do whatever you need, Mr. Pierce,” Maisie answered, her American accent crisp and unwavering.
Donovan’s cold, observant eyes swept over her. He recognized a rare, unbreakable steel in the young woman. She had not panicked. She had not screamed. She had simply protected his son.
“Will you take my son up the rear service elevator to the secure wing on the third floor?” Donovan asked, his deep voice carrying a sudden, urgent cadence. “Will you engage the heavy titanium deadbolts and refuse to open the door for anyone except me?”
“Yes, sir,” Maisie replied instantly.
“Will you promise me that you will not let him out of your sight for even a single second until the sun rises?” Donovan pressed, stepping toward the base of the stairs.
“I won't let anyone touch him,” Maisie swore, her expressive brows drawing together in a fierce, protective vow.
Donovan gave her a microscopic nod of approval. He reached up, gently resting a heavily tattooed hand on Eddie’s back for just a moment. “I will be up to see you soon, Eddie,” he murmured softly, breaking his interrogative rule for a fraction of a second, before instantly reverting to form as he addressed the maid. “Shall we ensure he gets to safety immediately, Maisie?”
Maisie turned without another word. She carried the seven-year-old boy up the rest of the concrete stairs, pushing through the heavy fire doors and disappearing into the labyrinth of the mansion's service corridors.
As they stepped into the private service elevator, the heavy metal doors sliding shut, Eddie finally lifted his head. His fair, rosy skin was stained with tears.
“Is my dad going to fight the bad men?” Eddie asked softly.
Maisie shifted his weight, brushing a stray lock of hair from his forehead. She looked at the floor indicator as the elevator began its ascent to the heavily fortified third floor.
“Your father is going to protect this house, Eddie,” Maisie said firmly. “He is going to make sure the people who hurt your mother can never hurt anyone ever again. And I am going to stay right here with you until it's over.”
Down in the basement, the air had grown terrifyingly still. The heavy fire doors had swung shut, leaving Donovan Pierce entirely alone with the woman bleeding on the floor.
Leonie was still kneeling by the open freezer, shivering uncontrollably as the frost settled over her torn satin gown. She looked up at the mafia boss, her eyes wide with desperate, pathetic hope. She had given him the name. She had handed him the traitor.
“I told you everything, Donovan,” Leonie pleaded, her voice raspy. “I gave you Silas. You can go after him now. What are you going to do with me?”
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Donovan reached out, gripping the heavy steel handle of the walk-in freezer door.
“Did you truly believe your confession would earn you a ticket out of this basement, Leonie?” Donovan asked, his voice cold and final as the grave.
