Chapter 9
Nessa stood frozen in the center of the study. The warm, elegant light from the desk lamp illuminated the powerful, masculine lines of Callum's face. The extremely short stubble on his jawline seemed to bristle with an intoxicating mix of danger and intimacy.
"I don't understand, Mr. Whitestone," Nessa whispered, her softly rounded face flushing a deep, beautiful pink.
"Did you think your courage tonight would go unrewarded?" Callum asked, stepping away from the desk and slowly closing the distance between them.
"I was only doing my job, sir. I couldn't let him suffer like that," Nessa said, her voice trembling slightly as he stopped just inches away from her.
"Is protecting my son from psychological torture part of your job description?" Callum asked, his deep voice a low, mesmerizing rumble.
"No, sir," Nessa admitted, looking up into his perceptive eyes. "But it is what any decent person would do."
"Do you believe decency is a common trait in my world?" Callum asked. He reached out with his right hand. The refined artistic tattoos across his fingers flexed as he gently tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. The touch was electric, sending a sharp jolt of warmth down her spine.
"I know it is rare, sir," Nessa breathed, her heart hammering against her ribs.
"Will you accept a new position in this house, Nessa?" Callum asked, his gaze dropping briefly to her lips before returning to her eyes.
"What kind of position?" Nessa asked, her expressive brows drawing together in confusion.
"Would you prefer to assume the role of Ellis’s personal governess, answering to absolutely no one in this family but me?" Callum asked.
Nessa stared at him, overwhelmed by the sheer magnitude of the offer. A governess was a position of high respect and immense trust, offering a salary and security that far exceeded her role as a housemaid. It meant she would no longer be invisible; she would be a central figure in the life of the mafia boss's only son.
"Are you serious, Mr. Whitestone?" Nessa asked, a radiant, beautiful smile breaking across her fair, rosy face.
"Have I ever joked about the welfare of my child?" Callum asked, his sharply defined jawline softening slightly.
"I would be honored," Nessa whispered.
Before Callum could ask his next question, the heavy silence of the mansion was abruptly shattered.
A blaring, high-pitched security siren erupted through the halls, the sound vibrating violently through the carved walnut paneling. The warm golden light in the study flickered, immediately replaced by stark, pulsating red emergency strobe lights.
Nessa gasped, instinctively taking a step back as the alarms wailed.
Callum’s demeanor changed in a microsecond. The gentle employer vanished, replaced instantly by the cold, lethal mafia king. His powerful shoulders squared, and his perceptive eyes narrowed into dangerous slits.
He strode quickly to his massive mahogany desk and pressed a button on the intercom system.
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"Are the perimeter guards engaging hostiles?" Callum demanded into the microphone, his deep voice slicing cleanly through the chaotic wail of the sirens.
"Boss!" the frantic voice of his head of security crackled back over the speaker. "It's a coordinated breach! The Ward syndicate didn't wait for morning! They rammed the eastern service gates with an armored truck! We have multiple hostiles on the grounds!"
