Chapter 9
The warm, muted light of the nursery cast intimate shadows across the room as Della hesitated. She looked up into Ronan’s cold, perceptive eyes, finding a surprising depth of warmth hidden beneath their icy surface. She was a housemaid, a woman paid to clean and serve, yet the mafia boss was looking at her with a level of care he usually reserved only for his blood.
Slowly, Della extended her right arm, unbuttoning the crisp white cuff of her sophisticated black dress and rolling the sleeve back. The angry, mottled purple bruise wrapped aggressively around her delicate wrist, a stark contrast to her fair, rosy skin.
Ronan reached out, his large hands enveloping hers. The refined artistic tattoos across his fingers felt slightly rough, but his touch was incredibly gentle. He examined the bruise, his jawline clenching tight, the extremely short stubble on his face bristling as a dangerous, protective edge crept into his demeanor.
"Does it cause you severe pain?" Ronan asked, his deep voice vibrating with suppressed fury directed entirely at the woman currently locked in his basement.
"It only aches a little, sir," Della replied, her heart fluttering rapidly against her ribs. The heat from his hands was sending electric jolts up her arm.
"Did she ever lay her hands on you before today?" Ronan asked, looking up from her wrist to meet her expressive eyes.
"No, sir," Della answered softly. "It was mostly words. Threats. She wanted everyone to know she was in control of the house."
"Should I have paid closer attention to the shadows in my own home?" Ronan asked, looking away, a rare expression of deep, agonizing guilt crossing his handsome face. "Did my ambition blind me to the suffering of my son and my staff?"
Della felt a sudden, desperate urge to comfort the powerful man standing before her. She took a tentative step closer, her slender figure moving with elegant grace.
"You are a very busy man, sir. You were building an empire for him," Della said softly. "You couldn't have known."
"Are you defending my failures, Della?" Ronan asked, looking back at her, a faint, almost imperceptible smile touching the corners of his mouth.
"I am just telling you what I see," Della smiled back, her expressive brows lifting gently.
Ronan stared at her, captivated by the movie-star beauty of her softly tapered face and delicate nose. The sophisticated black maid dress cinched at her waist highlighted the feminine perfection of her silhouette, but it was the quiet strength and unwavering loyalty in her eyes that truly drew him in.
"Shall we retire to my study?" Ronan asked, gently rolling her sleeve back down and buttoning her cuff for her. "Is there much we still need to discuss regarding the events of tonight?"
"Yes, Mr. Ellsworth," Della nodded, following him out of the nursery.
They walked in silence down the luminous, airy corridors of the mansion. The warm golden light washed over the carved walnut paneling and gilded mirrors. When they reached the heavy oak doors of his private study, Ronan opened it and ushered her inside.
May you like
The study was a sanctuary of deep leather, rich mahogany, and walls lined with books. It felt isolated from the rest of the vast estate. Ronan walked behind his desk, pouring a small measure of amber liquid into a crystal glass. He offered it to Della.
"Would you care for a drink to calm your nerves before the real war begins?" Ronan asked.
