Chapter 4
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. Alaric walked silently down the hall, carrying Seth effortlessly in his powerful arms. Eliza walked a half-step behind him, her black maid dress swishing softly. Heavy, armed guards nodded respectfully as they passed, their eyes widening slightly as they registered the housemaid walking so closely with the boss.
They reached the heavy oak door of Seth’s bedroom. Alaric pushed it open, stepping into the room bathed in the soft glow of a bedside lamp. He gently lowered Seth onto the large bed, keeping the thick tablecloth wrapped around him.
"Will you run a warm bath for him, Eliza?" Alaric asked softly, looking over his shoulder.
"Right away, Mr. Mercer," Eliza said, moving quickly toward the adjoining bathroom.
While Eliza prepared the water, Alaric 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 small neck tattoo. He knelt beside the bed, rubbing Seth’s small hands between his own heavily tattooed ones, generating friction and warmth for the child who had spent hours in freezing terror.
Twenty minutes later, Seth was scrubbed clean, his skin flushed and warm, dressed in thick cotton pajamas and tucked securely beneath heavy down comforters. The boy was asleep almost instantly, utterly exhausted by the ordeal.
Eliza stood near the door, her hands folded neatly over her white apron. She had discarded the damp towels and wiped a smudge of soot from her own cheek. She watched the mafia boss—a man feared across the entire eastern seaboard—gently stroke his son’s hair with a tenderness that defied his ruthless reputation.
Alaric stood up slowly, the tension returning to his broad shoulders. He turned and walked over to Eliza, stopping just a few feet away. His cold, perceptive eyes searched her softly oval face.
"How did you know she was targeting him?" Alaric asked, his deep voice a low rumble in the quiet nursery.
"I was organizing the dry goods in the pantry, sir," Eliza answered, her voice barely a whisper. "I heard a muffled sound coming from the walk-in freezer. Sabrina had forbidden the staff from going into the kitchen sub-corridors during the dinner, but the sound was too rhythmic. Like a child kicking metal. I took the master keys from the security desk when the guard stepped away."
"Did you consider the danger you were putting yourself in by crossing her in front of the entire commission?" Alaric asked, the extremely short stubble on his jaw catching the lamplight.
"I only considered that a little boy was freezing in the dark," Eliza said, her expressive brows drawing together in fierce determination. "I couldn't walk away from that."
"Do you realize you are the only reason he is alive today?" Alaric asked, his gaze intensifying, a dark, terrifying warmth bleeding into his cold eyes.
"I just did what anyone should have done," Eliza breathed, her heart fluttering wildly at his proximity.
"Have you met many people in my world who do what they should, Eliza?" Alaric 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.
The touch sent a jolt of electricity straight to her core. Eliza swallowed hard, looking up at his angular face. The danger surrounding them was absolute, but the safety she felt in his presence was undeniable.
Before Alaric could offer another question, the heavy, encrypted radio clipped to his belt crackled to life with sudden, violent static.
"Boss?" Marcus's gruff voice called out over the comms. "We have a major situation at the front gates."
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Alaric did not flinch. He slowly pulled his hand away from Eliza’s face, his posture instantly shifting back into that of a wartime commander.
"Are the Shaw convoys already here, Marcus?" Alaric asked into the radio.
