“Only something to help you sleep.”

The private west wing of the mansion was a stark contrast to the opulent, echoing dining hall. The corridors here were lined with plush carpets and warm, muted lighting, designed specifically to be a sanctuary. Cassian walked silently down the hall, holding Finn’s small hand in his large, tattooed one. Willa walked a half-step behind him, her black maid dress swishing softly. Heavy, armed guards nodded respectfully as they passed, their eyes widening slightly as they registered the housemaid walking so closely with the boss.

They reached the heavy oak door of Finn’s nursery. Cassian pushed it open, stepping into the room bathed in the soft glow of a bedside lamp.

"Will you help him into his pajamas, Willa?" Cassian asked softly, looking over his shoulder.

"Yes, Mr. Grey," Willa said, moving quickly to assist the tired six-year-old.

Cassian remained by the door. He removed his tailored suit jacket, draping it over a chair, then unbuttoned his crisp white shirt at the collar, revealing the artistic neck tattoo. He watched Willa interact with his son, observing the gentle, maternal care she offered the boy who had just unwittingly saved his father's life.

Once Finn was tucked securely beneath thick comforters, asleep almost instantly, Willa stood near the door, her hands folded neatly over her white apron. She watched the mafia boss—a man feared across the entire eastern seaboard—gaze at his son with a tenderness that defied his ruthless reputation.

Cassian stood up slowly, the tension returning to his broad shoulders. He turned and walked over to Willa, stopping just a few feet away. His cold, perceptive eyes searched her softly oval face.

"How did you know she was in the pantry?" Cassian asked, his deep voice a low rumble in the quiet nursery.

"I was organizing the dry goods, sir," Willa answered, her voice barely a whisper. "The pantry is deep. She didn't see me in the back. I saw her pull a vial from her clutch and empty it into the teapot you requested. She told the kitchen staff she wanted to serve it herself to be romantic."

"Did you consider the danger you were putting yourself in by crossing her in front of the entire commission?" Cassian asked, the extremely short stubble on his jaw catching the lamplight.

"I only considered that you were about to drink it," Willa said, her expressive brows drawing together. "I couldn't walk away from that."

"Do you realize you are the only reason I am breathing right now?" Cassian asked, his gaze intensifying, a dark, terrifying warmth bleeding into his cold eyes.

"I just did what anyone should have done," Willa breathed, her heart fluttering wildly at his proximity.

"Have you met many people in my world who do what they should, Willa?" Cassian inquired. He reached out, his refined, tattooed hand hovering for a fraction of a second before he gently tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

The touch sent a jolt of electricity straight to her core. Willa swallowed hard, looking up at his angular face. The danger surrounding them was absolute, but the safety she felt in his presence was undeniable.

Before Cassian could offer another question, the heavy, encrypted radio clipped to his belt crackled to life with sudden, violent static.

"Boss?" Marcus's gruff voice called out over the comms. "We have a major situation at the front gates."

Cassian did not flinch. He slowly pulled his hand away from Willa’s face, his posture instantly shifting back into that of a wartime commander.

"Are the Sloane convoys already here, Marcus?" Cassian asked into the radio.

"Yes, sir," Marcus reported, his voice tight with tension. "It's Arthur Sloane himself. He has thirty heavily armed men with him. He is demanding you hand over his daughter immediately, or they breach the walls."

Willa gasped, her hands flying to her mouth. The war had arrived faster than anyone anticipated.

"Will you wait here and lock the door behind me?" Cassian asked, looking back at Willa.