Chapter 8
Selma looked up into Bennett’s cold, perceptive eyes. The warm light from the fireplace illuminated the powerful, masculine breadth of his shoulders. She was a housemaid, a woman paid to clean and serve, yet the mafia boss was looking at her with a level of respect he usually reserved for his most trusted lieutenants.
"I know Celestine's family is very powerful, Mr. Hale," Selma answered honestly, her expressive brows drawing together. "I know they will come looking for her. I know this means war."
"Do you believe I fear a war with the men who stole weeks of my father's life?" Bennett asked, stepping closer to her.
"No, sir," Selma replied softly. "I think you are going to destroy them."
Bennett stared at her, captivated by the movie-star beauty of her delicate cheekbones and the quiet courage in her eyes. The sophisticated black maid dress cinched at her waist highlighted the feminine perfection of her silhouette, but it was her unwavering loyalty that truly drew his attention.
"Will you accept a change in your employment, Selma?" Bennett asked suddenly, shifting the topic with whiplash speed.
Selma blinked, her softly oval face registering confusion. "A change, sir?"
"Do you believe your talents are best utilized dusting mirrors and serving dinner?" Bennett asked, taking a slow step toward her.
Selma’s breath hitched in her throat. The imposing frame of the mafia boss filled her vision as he stepped closer. The warm golden light of the bedroom caught the extremely short, neatly trimmed stubble on his jawline.
"What kind of change, Mr. Hale?" Selma asked, her heart racing against her ribs.
"Would you prefer to assume the role of my father's personal companion, answering to absolutely no one in this house but me?" Bennett asked.
Selma stared at him, overwhelmed by the sheer magnitude of the offer. A personal companion was a position of high respect and immense trust, offering 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 family.
"Are you serious, sir?" Selma asked, a radiant, beautiful smile breaking across her fair, rosy face.
"Have I ever joked about the welfare of my father?" Bennett asked, stopping just inches from her.
"I would be honored," Selma whispered.
"Will you trust me to keep you safe when the war begins tonight?" Bennett asked, his voice a low, gravelly promise.
"Always," Selma replied without hesitation.
Bennett raised his tattooed hand, his knuckles gently brushing against the soft curve of her jawline. It was a fleeting, electric touch that promised a future far more complicated than employer and employee.
Before either could speak again, the quiet of the master suite was broken by the distant, high-pitched wail of the estate’s security sirens. The red emergency strobe lights flickered outside the tall windows, casting a bloody, chaotic glow over the sprawling grounds.
Selma gasped, instinctively taking a step back as the alarms wailed.
Bennett’s demeanor changed in a microsecond. The gentle protector vanished, replaced instantly by the cold, lethal mafia king. His powerful shoulders squared, and his observant eyes narrowed into dangerous slits.
He strode quickly to a reinforced steel safe embedded in the wall paneling and punched in a rapid code.
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"Are the perimeter guards engaging hostiles?" Bennett demanded into a secure radio sitting inside the safe.
"Boss!" Marcus’s frantic voice crackled back over the speaker. "The Voss syndicate didn't wait for morning! They hit the eastern service gates with heavy explosives! We have multiple hostiles on the grounds!"
