Chapter 8
The heavy service doors slammed shut, cutting off Estelle’s frantic, echoing screams with a definitive, satisfying thud. The sprawling dining hall was plunged back into a profound, ringing silence. The towering Christmas tree continued to sparkle with gold ornaments, but the joy of the holiday had been entirely eradicated, replaced by the grim reality of a looming mafia war.
Dominic stood perfectly still, the adrenaline of the confrontation slowly ebbing from his system, leaving behind a profound, aching exhaustion. He looked at his mother. Margaret was sitting quietly in her velvet dining chair, clutching her soft cardigan against the chill that seemed to emanate from the very walls.
He walked slowly toward her, dropping to one knee on the cream marble floor. He reached out, taking her frail, aged hands in his large, tattooed ones.
"Are you unharmed, Mother?" Dominic asked, his deep voice cracking slightly with raw emotion.
"I am fine, Dominic," Margaret answered, offering him a weak but genuine smile. Her poor vision couldn't capture the details of his face, but she felt the trembling in his strong hands. "I am just very tired of the noise. And I am very glad that woman is gone."
"She will never set foot in the sunlight again," Dominic promised, pressing a gentle kiss to his mother's knuckles.
"Do not let anger consume you, my son," Margaret warned softly. "Her family will retaliate. You must be prepared."
"I am always prepared," Dominic stated, standing up as the heavy oak doors opened once more.
The estate's private physician rushed into the room, carrying a black medical bag. He was panting, having sprinted from the residential wing the moment Ada delivered the message.
"Mr. Ashford, I have the backup supply of the digoxin and the beta-blockers," the doctor said, quickly moving to the table and retrieving the authentic medication. "I need to take her vitals immediately to ensure the missed dose hasn't caused an arrhythmia."
"Take her to her private suite," Dominic ordered, stepping back to give the medical professional room. "Establish a two-man perimeter around her door. No one enters without my express permission. Not even the capos."
As the guards assisted Margaret into a wheelchair to transport her safely upstairs, Dominic turned his attention back to the empty banquet table. He stared at the silver pillbox, the red-and-white peppermints mocking him in the bright light. He had been blind to the viper sleeping in his own bed, blinded by the necessity of a political alliance.
He walked over to the table and picked up the silver pillbox, his jaw tightening as he snapped the lid shut.
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The immediate threat was neutralized, but the war was just beginning. Estelle’s father, a powerful political broker with ties to the eastern syndicates, would not let the imprisonment of his daughter go unanswered. Blood would inevitably spill on the snow before the new year.
Dominic turned and walked out of the dining hall, navigating the sprawling, brightly lit corridors of his mansion until he reached the secure wing where his son’s quarters were located.
