Chapter 10
The heavy mahogany doors opened again, and a cadre of trusted guards escorted Walter and Owen out of the grand dining hall, heading toward the safety of the waiting convoy. The little boy waved over his father's shoulder at Elise, a small, tearful smile on his face.
Once they were gone, the reality of the ruined Christmas Eve dinner settled heavily over the remaining fifty guests. The elegant evergreen garlands and the sparkling Christmas tree felt entirely absurd against the backdrop of a dismantled engagement and a thwarted murder plot.
Damian turned to the room, his posture projecting absolute, terrifying dominance.
"Are you all waiting for dessert, or have you lost your appetites?" Damian asked the crowd, his deep voice carrying a cold, dismissive edge.
The spell broke. The elite guests scrambled for the exits, eager to escape the unpredictable wrath of the mafia boss. Chairs scraped loudly against the marble floor as they hurried out, leaving their untouched gold-rimmed porcelain behind. Within minutes, the vast, luxurious room was entirely empty of civilians, leaving only a few trusted guards, Damian, and Elise.
Damian let out a long, slow breath. The rigid tension in his broad shoulders relaxed by a fraction of an inch. He unbuttoned his tailored suit jacket, revealing the artistic tattoos on his wrists, and turned his full attention back to the beautiful housemaid standing beside him.
"Are you aware that the Merrick family will likely demand retribution for what she did?" Damian asked quietly, his perceptive eyes searching her face.
"Will they blame you, sir?" Elise asked, her expressive brows drawing together in worry.
"Let them try," Damian rumbled, a dangerous, confident smirk touching his lips. "But that is a war for tomorrow. Tonight, I have another matter to attend to."
"Do you need me to clean the hall, sir?" Elise asked, her hands automatically smoothing her white apron, falling back into her role.
"Do you honestly believe I will ever let you touch a serving tray again after tonight?" Damian asked, reaching out with his tattooed hand to gently stop her movement.
Elise blinked, confused, her heart racing as his warm fingers wrapped around her wrist. "Are you firing me, sir?"
"Am I firing you, Elise, or am I elevating you to the position you truly belong in?" Damian asked, stepping closer, erasing the distance between them.
He reached up, his fingers gently brushing a stray lock of dark hair behind her ear, grazing the edge of her white lace headband. The quiet mutual affection they had harbored in stolen glances over the past year had just been thrust violently into the open.
"I don't understand," she whispered, leaning almost imperceptibly into the warmth of his hand.
"Will you accompany me to my study, Elise?" Damian asked, his gaze lingering on her softly contoured face. "We have a great deal to discuss about the future of this house, and I do not trust anyone else by my side."
Before Elise could answer, the heavy, encrypted radio clipped to a nearby guard's belt crackled to life with sudden, violent static.
"Boss," the guard's voice interrupted urgently. "We have a major situation at the front gates. The northern families just arrived. They heard about the broken engagement, and they are demanding entry."
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Damian did not flinch. He slowly pulled his hand away from Elise’s face, his posture instantly shifting back into that of a wartime commander. The brief moment of vulnerability vanished, replaced by cold, calculating steel.
"Are you ready for the war that begins tonight, Elise?" Damian asked, turning his broad shoulders toward the doors, the promise of violence hanging heavily in the bright, cinematic light.
