Chapter 7
Dorian walked over to a crystal decanter on his desk, pouring a small measure of amber liquid into a glass. He brought it to Nell, pressing the heavy crystal into her trembling hands.
"Drink," he instructed softly. "It will help settle your nerves."
Nell took a small sip, the burn of the alcohol grounding her slightly. She looked up at Dorian, her expressive eyes filled with lingering fear.
"Did I cause a war, Mr. Westbrook?" Nell whispered. "If I had just kept quiet... if Archie hadn't spoken up..."
"Do you believe a war is a high price to pay for the truth?" Dorian asked, pulling up a chair to sit directly in front of her, their knees almost touching. "She manipulated my son, Nell. She stole from you. There is no universe in which I would allow her to breathe free air after that."
"But her family... they are powerful," Nell said, her voice shaking.
"Are they more powerful than a father seeking vengeance?" Dorian asked, his dark eyes hardening into twin points of icy resolve. "Do not worry about the Rowes, Nell. I will handle them. You just need to focus on surviving tonight."
Before she could answer, the secure phone on Dorian’s desk began to ring. The shrill, encrypted tone shattered the silence of the study.
Dorian sighed, a harsh, frustrated sound escaping his chest. He stood up, the cold, calculating mask of the syndicate boss slipping back over his angular features instantly. He strode to the desk and picked up the receiver.
"Report," Dorian commanded.
"Boss, it's Marcus," the underboss's voice crackled through the speaker. "The Rowe family has mobilized. Their scouts were just spotted probing the northern perimeter. They know we have Celine."
"Did they attempt a breach?" Dorian asked, his voice devoid of panic, asking the question with tactical precision.
"Not yet," Marcus replied. "They are massing numbers. Old man Rowe just sent an encrypted message. He demands his daughter back within the hour, or he will flatten the estate."
"Does an old man with a bruised ego truly believe he can issue ultimatums at my gates?" Dorian asked, his jaw tightening so hard the small artistic tattoo on his neck shifted. "Reinforce the northern walls. Issue armor-piercing rounds to the snipers on the roof. If a single vehicle crosses the property line without my authorization, turn it to scrap metal."
"Understood, Boss. We are ready," Marcus confirmed before the line went dead.
Dorian set the phone down carefully. He didn't move for a moment, staring out the window into the dark, cold night. The Christmas Eve snow was beginning to fall, a peaceful, picturesque scene that starkly contrasted the impending bloodshed.
Nell watched him from the armchair. She felt the heavy, suffocating weight of the world he carried on his broad shoulders. She stood up, her rumpled black maid dress swishing softly, and walked over to him. She didn't hesitate; she reached out and gently touched his arm.
May you like
Dorian turned to look at her, the lethal edge in his eyes softening immediately.
"Must you go out there yourself?" Nell asked, her voice trembling as she looked up at his handsome, dangerous face. "You have hundreds of men to fight for you. Why put yourself in the line of fire?"
