Chapter 7
"Are you men going to secure this traitor, or must I break her legs myself before we walk downstairs?" Damon asked, his command absolute.
Two massive enforcers stepped forward instantly, moving with terrifying, synchronized efficiency. They grabbed Camille roughly by the arms, entirely ignoring the expensive fabric of her luxurious emerald velvet gown.
"Get your hands off me!" Camille screamed as they dragged her backward toward the service corridor. "I am Camille Voss! I am going to be the lady of this house! Damon, call them off!"
"Take her to the holding cells in the sub-basement," Damon commanded, his voice completely devoid of emotion. "Ensure the temperature is dropped, and that she is stripped of all jewelry and communication devices."
"You are a dead man, Damon!" Camille wailed as they hauled her through the heavy doors. "You hear me? You are a dead man!"
"We will see," Damon murmured to the empty room.
The heavy service doors slammed shut, instantly cutting off Camille’s frantic, echoing screams. The grand salon was plunged back into a profound, ringing silence. The towering Christmas tree continued to sparkle with golden lights and red ribbons, a surreal, festive backdrop to the brutal mafia justice that had just been executed.
Damon stood perfectly still for a long moment, the adrenaline of the confrontation slowly ebbing from his system, leaving behind a profound, aching exhaustion. He had defended his son and protected the woman who had quietly suffered agonizing psychological pain to care for the boy. But the political fallout with the Voss family would inevitably ignite a massive war in the coming days. Camille's father, a powerful underboss with deep ties to the eastern ports, would not let the imprisonment of his daughter go unanswered. Blood would inevitably spill on the snow before the new year.
Damon let out a slow, controlled breath. He unbuttoned his suit jacket, rolling his broad shoulders to release the coiled tension. He looked at the empty stroller still sitting near the Christmas tree, a fierce, protective rage continuing to burn in his chest. He needed to secure his son. He needed to ensure the estate was locked down before the Voss syndicate realized the engagement had been violently broken.
He turned and strode purposefully out of the grand salon, ascending the marble staircase two steps at a time. His polished shoes were silent on the thick carpet as he headed straight for his private quarters on the second floor.
He approached the heavy wooden door of the master suite. Two enforcers stood guard, their hands resting on their holstered weapons. They nodded respectfully as the boss approached.
"Is the perimeter secure?" Damon asked, his deep voice carrying a quiet urgency.
"Yes, Boss. No one has entered or exited the wing," the lead guard confirmed, stepping aside to open the heavy door for him. "We are on full lockdown."
Damon stepped into his private quarters. The room was bathed in the soft, warm glow of a roaring fireplace. Leo was sitting on the edge of the massive four-poster bed, having shed his red velvet romper, looking small and fragile in his cream knitted shirt. Sitting on the floor right beside him, speaking in a low, soothing voice, was Elise Bennett.
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The maid had adjusted her rumpled white apron, folding it neatly over her lap. Her black maid dress was still creased, but her delicate features radiated a fierce, protective warmth. As Damon entered, Elise immediately stood up, smoothing her skirt, her expressive eyes darting to his face to read the outcome of the confrontation downstairs.
"Daddy!" Leo cried, jumping out of the bed and running across the room.
