Chapter 5
The morning sun filtered through the heavy velvet drapes of the master suite, casting long beams across the luxurious room. Clara stood in front of the ornate vanity mirror, staring at her reflection. She was no longer wearing the black maid dress and ruffled headband. Instead, she wore a soft, cream-colored maternity dress that Ronan had ordered his staff to bring her. Her hair was brushed and neat, falling in soft waves over her shoulders.
She looked entirely different, but inside, she felt like a ticking time bomb.
A sharp knock broke her concentration. Ronan entered without waiting for a reply. He was dressed in a black turtleneck that clung to his muscular frame, a shoulder holster strapped over his chest holding a heavy pistol. The air of a polished businessman was gone; the mafia boss had stepped into the light, preparing for war.
"Did you sleep?" Ronan asked, his eyes sweeping over her with undeniable approval.
"A little," Clara replied softly. "Where is Toby?"
"Eating breakfast in the kitchen with my top lieutenants guarding the doors," Ronan said, stepping further into the room. "The mansion is on complete lockdown. Nobody goes in, nobody goes out. The Shaw family has formally declared a vendetta against us."
Clara’s breath hitched, and she gripped the edge of the vanity. "I told you this would happen. You have to tell them I ran away. Let them direct their anger at me, not your empire."
Ronan crossed the room in three long strides, stopping right in front of her. His hands shot out, gripping the edge of the vanity on either side of her hips, effectively trapping her.
"Do you really think this is just about you, Clara?" Ronan asked, his voice low and dangerous. "Veronica's father has been looking for an excuse to strike at my territory for years. The marriage was a band-aid. This war was inevitable. You just moved the timeline up."
"But they will target you to get to me," Clara argued, looking up into his dark, relentless eyes. "They will try to kill you."
"Let them try," Ronan murmured, leaning closer. "I have five hundred armed men forming a perimeter around this estate. The Shaw family can bring their entire army, and they will drown in their own blood on my front lawn."
"Why are you doing this?" Clara whispered, her voice breaking. "I was just the girl who cleaned your floors."
Ronan’s gaze dropped to her lips for a fleeting, agonizing second before meeting her eyes again.
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"Because that night wasn't just a mistake to me, Clara. It was the only time I've felt alive in years," Ronan confessed. He lifted a hand, his tattooed fingers brushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "You are under my absolute protection. And so is our child."
Suddenly, a loud, shattering explosion rocked the mansion, rattling the windows in their frames and sending a shower of plaster falling from the ceiling. The war had arrived.
