The mafia boss tasted a single spoonful of the dessert

"I am unharmed, sir," Celia answered, her voice trembling slightly as she kept her hands folded over her neatly tied white apron. "But... I know what just happened. I know the Voss family will come for you because we spoke."

"Do you believe I would allow a woman who tortures my wife to remain in my home out of fear of her father?" Everett asked, a flicker of profound, protective warmth entering his cold eyes as he looked at her.

"I didn't know what to expect, Mr. Crowne," Celia whispered, her expressive brows drawing together. "I just heard her begging through the door. I couldn't walk away and leave her in the dark."

"Did you think a monster would punish the only person with the courage to bring his wife back to the light?" Everett asked gently.

He didn't walk away. He stood there, holding his wife, his towering masculine frame casting a long shadow in the golden light. The rigid boundaries of class, wealth, and danger had been completely obliterated in the span of a single evening.

"Will you accompany us upstairs, Celia?" Everett asked, his gaze lingering on her softly heart-shaped face. "Do you think I trust anyone else in this house to watch over her tonight?"

"I will come," Celia said softly, the reality of her new position settling heavily upon her.

"Are you prepared for the war that begins tomorrow?" Everett asked, turning his broad shoulders toward the heavy mahogany doors.

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. Everett walked silently down the hall, supporting Juliet’s frail weight effortlessly. Celia walked a half-step behind them, her black maid dress swishing softly. Heavy, armed guards nodded respectfully as they passed, their eyes widening in absolute shock as they registered the boss's dead wife walking the halls.

They reached the heavy oak double doors of the master suite. Everett pushed them open, stepping into the massive room bathed in the soft glow of bedside lamps. He gently lowered Juliet onto the edge of the large, silk-draped bed.

"Will you draw a warm bath for her, Celia?" Everett asked softly, looking over his shoulder.

"Right away, Mr. Crowne," Celia said, moving quickly toward the adjoining, luxurious marble bathroom.

While Celia prepared the water and gathered fresh, soft garments, Everett 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 artistic neck tattoo. He knelt beside the bed, holding Juliet’s cold, trembling hands between his own heavily tattooed ones, generating friction and warmth for the woman who had spent six months in freezing terror.

An hour later, Juliet was scrubbed clean, her hair washed and brushed, dressed in a thick, luxurious cashmere robe. She was tucked securely beneath heavy down comforters. The exhaustion of her imprisonment finally overtook her adrenaline, and she fell into a deep, profound sleep.

Celia 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 wife’s hair with a tenderness that defied his ruthless reputation.

Everett stood up slowly, the tension returning to his broad shoulders. He turned and walked over to Celia, stopping just a few feet away. His cold, perceptive eyes searched her softly heart-shaped face.

"Did you consider the danger you were putting yourself in by crossing her in front of the entire commission?" Everett asked, his deep voice a low rumble in the quiet bedroom.

"I only considered that a woman was trapped in a cage, and you were marrying her captor," Celia said, her expressive brows drawing together in fierce determination. "I couldn't walk away from that."

"Do you realize you are the only reason she is alive today?" Everett asked, his gaze intensifying, a dark, terrifying warmth bleeding into his cold eyes.

"I just did what anyone should have done," Celia breathed, her heart fluttering wildly at his proximity.

"Have you met many people in my world who do what they should, Celia?" Everett 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.