Chapter 9
Damon crouched down, his tailored suit shifting smoothly over his muscular frame. He looked his three-year-old son in the eye, keeping his large, tattooed hands steady.
"Are you unharmed, Milo?" Damon asked, his deep voice softening significantly, losing its lethal, interrogative edge.
Milo looked at the towering mafia boss, his round rosy cheeks lifting into a soft, relieved smile. "I'm okay, Daddy. Did Auntie go to timeout?"
"She did, sweetheart," Damon murmured, his thumb gently brushing his son's soft curls. "You are a very brave boy. You saved Buttons's life today."
He stood back up and shifted his gaze to Iris.
The beautiful housemaid was watching him, her exhausted eyes drawn together in quiet empathy. She had endured psychological terror and nearly been tricked into an unspeakable act. The fierce, gentle loyalty she had displayed in holding the puppy and comforting his son was a rare, precious commodity in Damon's dark, violent world.
"Are you injured, Iris?" Damon asked softly, stepping closer to her, his imposing frame casting a protective shadow over her trembling figure.
"No, Mr. Rowe," Iris 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," Damon stated, his voice a low, gravelly command laced with profound affection. "From this moment forward, you answer to no one but me. You will move into the secure wing tonight with Milo."
Iris’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, Damon," Iris whispered, the formality dropping away in the quiet intimacy of the room.
Before Damon could respond to the sound of his first name on her lips, the heavy mahogany doors of the hall burst open again. A bloodied security operative stumbled into the room, gasping for breath.
"Is the perimeter breached?" Damon asked, spinning around, his hand already reaching for the concealed weapon beneath his vest.
"Yes, Boss!" the operative choked out. "The Marsh syndicate didn't wait! Celeste'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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Damon looked back at Iris, his cold, perceptive eyes burning with an unyielding, protective fire.
"Shall we show them exactly what it costs to threaten my family?" Damon asked the quiet room, racking the slide of his handgun with a sharp, metallic clatter as the estate's high-pitched security sirens began to wail.
