Chapter 9
"Is it over?" Sylvie whispered, her hands dropping the brass candlestick to the carpet with a soft thud, terrified of the answer.
"Do you believe the Reed family will ever pose a threat to us again?" Grant inquired, stepping back slightly to look down into her face. "Victor is dead. His remaining men surrendered when they realized they were completely surrounded by my tactical teams."
Sylvie swallowed hard, the brutal reality of the mafia world crashing over her like a tidal wave. She had exposed a lie, and Grant had finished a war.
"And Camilla?" Sylvie asked, her voice barely a breath.
"Will you accompany me to the cellar to conclude that piece of business tomorrow?" Grant asked, a dark, unforgiving shadow crossing his sharp eyes.
He didn't wait for her to process the terrifying reality of his question. He looked past her to the bed, where Nora was sleeping peacefully, the small puppy curled up safely at her feet.
"Is my daughter finally safe from the monsters?" Grant asked, walking past Sylvie to sit gently on the edge of the bed.
The morning sun cast a bright, luminous light over the shattered glass and scarred marble of the Whitestone estate. The air still smelled faintly of cordite and smoke, a lingering ghost of the violence that had claimed the night. But inside the grand dining room, where the chaos had first been ignited, a strange, profound peace had settled. The velvet chairs were righted, the debris swept away, and the fortress stood unbowed.
Grant stood by the tall, repaired windows of his private study, gazing out over the sprawling, manicured grounds. He had changed into a fresh, immaculate dark three-piece suit, his powerful shoulders carrying the weight of his newly solidified empire. The extremely short, neatly trimmed stubble on his jawline perfectly framed his cold, perceptive eyes as he listened to Marcus’s final casualty report.
"Are the remaining Reed territories completely under our control, Marcus?" Grant asked, not turning away from the glass.
"Yes, Boss," Marcus grunted, shifting his weight. "The capos surrendered at dawn. The entire western seaboard is yours now. And Camilla... the commission took her. They want to make an example out of her for her father's unsanctioned attack."
"Do you believe they will show her any more mercy than she showed my daughter's dog?" Grant inquired, his deep voice dropping to a terrifying, satisfied rumble.
"Not a chance in hell, sir," Marcus replied grimly.
As Marcus left, the heavy oak door of the study opened again. Sylvie stepped inside, and Grant’s breath hitched slightly in his chest. She was no longer wearing the sophisticated black maid dress with the white apron. Instead, she wore a beautifully tailored, emerald-green silk blouse and dark trousers, clothes Grant had personally ordered for her before the sun rose.
"Did you sleep at all, Sylvie?" Grant asked, closing the distance between them, his cold eyes warming instantly at the sight of her elegant transformation.
May you like
"A little," Sylvie answered softly. "Nora is awake. She is asking for you, and Teddy is hungry."
"Do you believe the savior of the Whitestone family should ever wear a maid's uniform again?" Grant asked, a faint, almost imperceptible smile touching his lips as he offered her his tattooed arm.
