Chapter 6
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. Grant walked silently down the hall, carrying Nora’s exhausted weight effortlessly. Sylvie walked a half-step behind them, her black maid dress swishing softly, Teddy finally stopping his violent shivering in her arms. Heavy, armed guards nodded respectfully as they passed, their eyes widening in absolute shock as they registered the housemaid walking the private halls with the boss.
They reached the heavy oak double doors of Nora's nursery. Grant pushed them open, stepping into the massive room bathed in the soft glow of bedside lamps. He gently lowered Nora onto the edge of the large, silk-draped bed.
"Will you help her change into her pajamas, Sylvie?" Grant asked softly, looking over his shoulder.
"Right away, sir," Sylvie said, moving quickly to place the tired puppy into a warm, plush dog bed near the radiator before assisting the five-year-old.
While Sylvie gathered fresh, soft garments, Grant remained by the bed. 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 knelt beside the bed, holding Nora’s small hands between his own heavily tattooed ones, offering a silent, steadying strength to the girl who had spent the evening in emotional terror.
An hour later, Nora was scrubbed clean, dressed in thick, warm cotton pajamas. She was tucked securely beneath heavy down comforters, with Teddy curled into a small, warm ball at her feet. The exhaustion of the evening finally overtook her, and she fell into a deep, profound sleep.
Sylvie 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—gently stroke his daughter’s hair with a tenderness that defied his ruthless reputation.
Grant stood up slowly, the tension returning to his broad shoulders. He turned and walked over to Sylvie, stopping just a few feet away. His cold, perceptive eyes searched her delicate, expressive face.
"How long have you suspected she was being cruel to my daughter?" Grant asked, his deep voice a low rumble in the quiet bedroom.
"I never suspected she would do something so vicious, sir," Sylvie answered, her voice barely a whisper, afraid to wake the sleeping child. "But she was always cold to her when you weren't looking. She would send her away, tell her she was a bother. When I heard her tell Nora that the puppy was a nuisance... I just felt something was wrong."
"Did you consider the danger you were putting yourself in by crossing her in front of the entire commission?" Grant asked, the extremely short stubble on his jaw catching the lamplight.
"I only considered that a little puppy was freezing, and a little girl was crying," Sylvie said, her expressive eyes holding his gaze with surprising defiance. "I couldn't walk away from that."
"Do you realize you have just handed me the key to saving my daughter's spirit?" Grant asked, his gaze intensifying, a dark, terrifying warmth bleeding into his cold eyes.
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"I just told you the truth, Mr. Whitestone," Sylvie breathed, her heart fluttering wildly at the dangerous intensity radiating from him.
"Have you met many people in my world who speak the truth without a gun to their head, Sylvie?" Grant inquired. He reached out, his refined, tattooed hand hovering for a fraction of a second before he gently tucked a loose strand of dark hair behind her ear, securing her low bun.
