Chapter 8
The profound, ringing silence of the grand dining room was broken only by the gentle crackle of the marble fireplace. The cascading crystal chandeliers continued to cast their warm golden light over the three figures. The opulent space, designed for celebration, now felt like a war room.
"I don't know how to help you, sir," Elodie whispered, her American accent trembling as she held Alice tightly against her white apron. "But I will do whatever you need."
"Did you not already provide the most crucial assistance by bringing the truth into the light?" Soren asked, his deep voice a low, reassuring rumble.
He reached out, offering his tattooed hand to help her up. Elodie hesitated for a fraction of a second before placing her slender fingers into his grip. His hold was warm, firm, and instantly grounding. He pulled her effortlessly to her feet, allowing her to keep her other arm securely wrapped around Alice.
"Shall we find a more secure place for Alice to rest?" Soren asked, his gaze dropping briefly to the seven-year-old who looked exhausted in the bright, luminous light.
"Yes, Mr. Blackwell," Elodie nodded, her rosy cheeks flushing slightly under his intense focus.
Soren turned and led them out of the dining room. They navigated the ivory-paneled corridors of the mansion, bypassing the staff quarters entirely. Instead, Soren guided them up the sweeping marble staircase toward the secure, heavily guarded family wing. The warm golden hues of the wall sconces illuminated their path, a stark contrast to the dark, violent reality of the impending mafia war.
He opened the doors to a massive, luxurious guest suite. The room was bathed in soft light, featuring a large, plush bed and thick silk curtains.
"Will this room suffice for the evening?" Soren asked, gesturing inside.
"It's beautiful, sir. Thank you," Elodie breathed, overwhelmed by the sheer magnitude of his protection. She guided Alice to the bed, gently tucking the exhausted girl beneath the thick duvet. Within minutes, the child’s breathing evened out into a deep, peaceful rhythm.
Elodie stood back up, turning to face Soren. The mafia boss stood in the doorway, his broad shoulders leaning casually against the frame. He had removed his suit jacket, and the loose strands of his wavy hair fell over his forehead, making him look less like a warlord and more like a weary father.
"Are the bad men going to come here?" Elodie asked, echoing the unspoken fear that hung in the air. She knew Camilla’s father would not accept the broken engagement peacefully.
"Do you think anyone could ever get past me to hurt you or my daughter?" Soren asked softly, stepping fully into the room and closing the heavy oak doors behind him.
"They have an army, Soren," Elodie said, using his first name in her desperation.
"Have I not built an empire by standing against armies?" Soren asked, a dark, lethal smile touching the corners of his mouth.
He closed the distance between them, stopping just inches away. The sheer, rugged beauty of his angular face and high-bridged nose was breathtaking up close.
"Will you accept a change in your employment, Elodie?" Soren asked suddenly, shifting the topic with whiplash speed.
May you like
Elodie blinked, her expressive brows furrowing in confusion. "A change, sir?"
"Do you believe your talents are best utilized dusting mirrors and serving dinner?" Soren asked, his cold, perceptive eyes softening as he looked down at her.
