Chapter 3
The heavy mahogany doors of Roman’s private study clicked shut, severing them from the chaotic murmurs of the fleeing guests. The room was a sanctuary of dark leather, towering bookshelves, and a massive stone fireplace where a fire crackled fiercely, casting long, dancing shadows across the walls.
Roman guided Nina to a plush leather armchair near the hearth, waiting until she sank into the cushions before he exhaled a heavy, ragged breath. He walked over to his desk, poured two fingers of amber liquid from a crystal decanter, and brought the glass to her.
"Drink," Roman instructed gently, his voice a low, raspy whisper. "It will help with the shock."
Nina took the glass with trembling hands, her fingers brushing against the intricate tattoos on his knuckles. She took a small sip, coughing slightly as the alcohol burned its way down her throat, but it anchored her racing heart. Owen immediately climbed onto the thick Persian rug, pulling a toy car from the pocket of his rust-red velvet overalls, blissfully ignorant of the mafia war that had just been declared.
Roman did not return to his desk. Instead, the imposing mafia boss knelt directly in front of her chair, his tailored trousers brushing the floor. He looked up at her, the harsh, lethal aura he carried in the ballroom completely vanishing, leaving only a profound, terrifying vulnerability.
"How long?" Roman asked, his dark eyes burning with a fierce, protective intensity. "How long did you know there was no baby, Nina?"
"I only found out this afternoon," Nina replied, her voice shaking as she set the glass down on a side table. "I was cleaning the guest wing. Dahlia had left her dressing room door open. I saw her unstrapping the cushion. When she realized I was watching, she panicked."
Roman’s jaw clenched so hard a muscle feathered beneath his short stubble. "And she locked you in the pantry."
"She shoved me," Nina corrected quietly, her clear, expressive eyes welling with unshed tears. "She told me that if I ruined her wedding, she would have her father's men cut my throat. She locked the deadbolt and told the kitchen staff I was caught stealing and was not to be let out."
Roman closed his eyes, his head dropping as a violent curse escaped his lips. The artistic tattoos on his hands stood out starkly as his fists clenched with white-knuckled rage.
"Why didn't you scream?" Roman demanded, opening his eyes to look at her. "Why didn't you beat the door down?"
"Because she threatened Owen," Nina whispered, a tear finally spilling over her rosy cheek. "She said if I made a scene, she would make sure Owen was sent away to a boarding school in Europe the moment the ink on the marriage certificate was dry. I couldn't let her take him from you."
Roman’s breath hitched. He stared at the beautiful, disheveled maid in front of him. In a world populated by ruthless killers and manipulative elites, this twenty-five-year-old girl with a crooked headband had risked her life to protect a child that wasn't hers.
He reached out, his large, warm hands gently enveloping hers. His thumbs brushed over her knuckles in a deeply intimate, comforting gesture.
"You are the bravest woman I have ever known, Nina," Roman said, his voice dropping to a fierce, unwavering vow. "You protected my son when I was blind to the monster in my own home."
"Mr. Ashford, the Mercers won't accept what happened out there," Nina said, her brow furrowing with deep worry as she looked at his signet ring. "Victor Mercer is a violent man. I don't want to be the reason your empire goes to war. You could have just quietly called off the wedding."
"There is no quiet way to deal with a traitor," Roman said, his jaw setting into a rigid, dangerous line. "I built this empire, and I will defend it. You and Owen are my priority now."
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"But I am just a maid," she protested weakly.
"Not anymore," Roman swore softly, reaching up to gently straighten her crooked ruffled headband, his fingers lingering against her fair hair. "You belong to us now. And I protect what is mine."
