Chapter 6
The profound, ringing silence of the grand dining room settled heavily over the remaining three figures. The cascading crystal chandeliers continued to cast their warm golden light over the abandoned gold-rimmed porcelain and half-empty crystal wine glasses. The opulent space, designed for celebration, now felt like a war room.
Bennett stood silently for a moment, his broad shoulders rising and falling with a slow, controlled breath. The betrayal was absolute, the upcoming syndicate war with Celestine’s father inevitable, but the immediate, toxic sickness within his home had been surgically removed. Now, he had to secure his father.
He turned his body, his polished leather shoes pivoting seamlessly on the thick rug, and walked toward the two figures remaining by the cellar hatch.
Selma was kneeling on the floor, holding Frank tightly in her arms. The sophisticated black maid dress contrasted sharply with the older man’s worn shirt and loose trousers. Selma was gently stroking Frank's thin hair, her softly oval face etched with deep, maternal relief.
Bennett stopped beside them, his imposing, masculine frame casting a protective shadow over the housemaid and his father. He reached into his pocket and retrieved a heavy set of master keys, tossing them to the floor beside Selma.
"Can you unlock the chain, Selma?" Bennett asked, his deep voice softening significantly, losing its lethal, interrogative edge.
Selma nodded rapidly, her hands shaking as she fumbled with the keys. The heavy steel cuff around Frank's wrist finally clicked open, freeing him from his six-week nightmare.
"Are you unharmed, Father?" Bennett asked, crouching down beside the older man.
Frank turned his head, his fair, rosy cheeks pale and gaunt. He looked at the towering mafia boss, his eyes searching for reassurance. "I'm weak, Bennett. But I am alive. She thought she could break me."
"Would I ever allow someone who threatens our family to break you in this house?" Bennett asked, reaching out to gently clasp his father's shoulder.
Frank managed a weak smile, leaning into his son's large, tattooed hand. "No."
Bennett shifted his gaze to Selma. The beautiful housemaid was watching him, her expressive brows drawn together in quiet empathy. She had risked her job, her physical safety, and her life by opening that cellar hatch and standing against the fiancée of a mafia boss. The fierce loyalty she had displayed was a rare, precious commodity in Bennett's dark, violent world.
"Are you injured, Selma?" Bennett asked, his cold, perceptive eyes scanning her delicate features.
"No, Mr. Hale," Selma answered softly, her elegant posture unwavering even as she knelt on the floor. "I am perfectly fine."
"Will you help me carry him up to the secure wing and stay with him until the doctor arrives?" Bennett asked, holding her gaze with an intensity that sent a sudden, warm flutter through Selma’s chest.
"Yes, Mr. Hale," Selma replied, her rosy cheeks flushing slightly under his intense focus.
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Bennett stood up, sliding one powerful arm behind his father's back and lifting the frail man effortlessly. The impending war with the Voss syndicate loomed over him, but for the first time in six weeks, his house finally felt like a home again.
"Shall we prepare for what comes next?" Bennett asked the empty room, turning to begin his preparations for absolute war.
