Chapter 6
The tension in the mansion over the next three days was palpable. Though sequestered in Xavier’s private wing, Amara could feel the heavy, oppressive atmosphere of a fortress preparing for a siege. Men with heavy, dark coats and solemn faces frequently visited Xavier’s study down the hall.
Elijah, however, was thriving. Away from Vivian’s cruel shadow, the boy’s natural, bright personality began to blossom. He laughed more often, a sweet, melodic sound that seemed to briefly banish the darkness whenever Xavier was in the room.
It was late evening when Xavier entered the suite. Amara was sitting on the plush rug, helping Elijah build a towering structure out of wooden blocks. Xavier paused in the doorway, quietly observing the scene. He looked exhausted, the lines around his eyes deeper than usual. He had loosened his tie and rolled up his sleeves, revealing the full extent of the intricate, razor-sharp ink on his forearms.
"Daddy!" Elijah squealed, abandoning his blocks and running toward the towering man.
Xavier caught the boy effortlessly, swinging him up into his arms with a rare, genuine smile that transformed his handsome face. "Look at you. Are you building an empire, little man?"
"Building a castle!" Elijah corrected proudly. "For Amara and me!"
Xavier’s eyes flicked to Amara, who was rising gracefully from the floor. "A castle, huh? Make sure the walls are thick." He kissed the boy’s cheek before setting him down. "Go finish your tower. I need to speak with Amara."
Elijah happily trotted back to his toys. Xavier walked over to the small wet bar in the corner of the room, pouring himself a measure of bourbon. He didn't drink it immediately; he just stared at the amber liquid.
"Is something wrong, sir?" Amara asked cautiously, stepping closer.
"Marcus is mobilizing," Xavier said, his voice a low, gravelly rumble. "He’s called in favors from two other families. They are forming an alliance to push me out of the port districts."
Amara frowned, her hands clasping nervously in front of her. "Can they do that?"
"They can try," Xavier replied, turning to face her. He took a sip of his drink. "It means there will be blood on the streets by the weekend. I am moving you and Elijah to the safe house in the mountains tonight."
Amara’s eyes widened. "Tonight? But Elijah just got comfortable here. Moving him again in the dark… it will scare him."
"It is necessary, Amara," Xavier said firmly, his tone brook-no-argument. "The mansion is secure, but I will not risk my son in a war zone."
Amara took a deep breath, gathering her courage. "Then come with us."
Xavier stared at her, genuinely surprised by the demand. "I cannot abandon my men, Amara. I have to lead this."
"You are a father first!" Amara argued, her voice rising slightly before she caught herself and lowered it, glancing at the playing child. "Elijah needs you. He needs to know that his father isn't going to disappear into the violence. You said it yourself, you failed him by not paying attention. Don't fail him by leaving him alone again."
The air between them grew incredibly thick. No one spoke to Xavier Holloway like this. Men had been beaten to a pulp for showing far less disrespect. Yet, Xavier just looked at her, his dark eyes tracing the determined, beautiful lines of her face.
Slowly, Xavier closed the distance between them. He stood so close she could feel the heat radiating off his body, smelling the intoxicating blend of bourbon, expensive cologne, and pure, raw masculinity.
"You are a remarkably brave woman, Amara," Xavier whispered, his voice vibrating in her chest. He reached up, his tattooed fingers gently brushing against her jawline. The touch was electric, sending a jolt of heat straight to her core.
Amara’s breath hitched, her eyes locked with his. She couldn't look away, trapped in the magnetic, dangerous pull of the Mafia boss.
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"I will come to the safe house," Xavier promised softly, his thumb lightly tracing her cheekbone. "As soon as I have broken Marcus’s spine. Until then, you keep my heart safe. Do you understand?"
"Yes," Amara breathed, realizing with terrifying clarity that she wasn't just holding his son anymore; she was holding the last, fragile piece of his humanity.
