Chapter 10
The profound, ringing silence of the grand salon settled heavily over the remaining figures. The cascading crystal chandeliers continued to cast their warm golden light over the abandoned gift-wrapping table and the towering Christmas tree. The opulent space, designed for celebration, now felt entirely different—it was a war room.
Roman stood silently for a moment, his broad shoulders rising and falling with a slow, controlled breath. The betrayal was absolute, the upcoming syndicate war with Camille’s father inevitable, but the immediate, toxic sickness within his home had been surgically removed. Now, he had to secure his son and the woman who had suffered to protect them.
He turned his body, pivoting seamlessly on the polished marble floors, and focused his entire attention back on Mara and Jude.
Mara was still kneeling on the floor, her hands trembling as she held Jude tightly against her chest. Her beautiful features were pale, her eyes still puffy and red from her earlier tears, and her disheveled hair fell loosely around her face. She looked up at the towering mafia boss, her breathing shallow and ragged.
Roman crouched down, his tailored suit shifting, and looked his son in the eye.
"Are you unharmed, Jude?" Roman asked, his deep voice softening significantly, losing its lethal, interrogative edge.
Jude looked at the mafia boss, his innocent eyes wide. "I'm okay, Daddy. Did Auntie Camille go to timeout?"
"She did, sweetheart," Roman murmured, his thumb gently brushing his son's soft, rosy cheek. "You are a very brave boy. You helped us find the truth."
He stood back up and shifted his gaze to Mara.
The beautiful housemaid was watching him, her exhausted eyes drawn together in quiet empathy. She had endured psychological and physical torment simply because she had demanded the wages she needed to escape. The fierce, gentle loyalty she had displayed in comforting his son was a rare, precious commodity in Roman's dark, violent world.
"Are you injured beyond your wrist, Mara?" Roman asked softly, stepping closer to her, his imposing frame casting a protective shadow over her trembling figure.
"No, Mr. Ashford," Mara answered gently, slowly standing taller, her graceful posture returning despite her disheveled state. "I am perfectly fine."
"You are not fine, and you are no longer a maid in this house," Roman stated, his voice a low, gravelly command laced with profound affection. "From this moment forward, you answer to no one but me. Your wages will be paid tenfold, and you will move into the secure wing tonight with Jude."
Mara’s breath hitched. The magnitude of the offer, and the safety it provided, was overwhelming. The warm, golden light of the chandeliers caught the fresh tears welling in her eyes, this time born of absolute relief.
"Thank you, Roman," Mara whispered, the formality dropping away in the quiet intimacy of the room.
Before Roman could respond, the heavy mahogany doors of the salon burst open again. A bloodied security operative stumbled into the room, gasping for breath.
"Is the perimeter breached?" Roman asked, spinning around, his hand already reaching for the concealed weapon beneath his vest.
"Yes, Boss!" the operative choked out. "The Rowe syndicate didn't wait! Camille's personal guards got a signal out before we disarmed them! They hit the outer gates! We have multiple hostiles on the grounds!"
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Roman looked back at Mara, his cold, perceptive eyes burning with an unyielding, protective fire.
"Shall we show them exactly what it costs to threaten my family?" Roman asked the quiet room, racking the slide of his handgun as the estate's high-pitched security sirens began to wail, signaling the brutal beginning of a mafia war.
