Chapter 10
The following morning, the Westbrook mansion was bathed in bright, airy sunlight that poured through the richly draped windows. The luminous colors of the estate felt renewed, as if the heavy, oppressive presence of Felicia had been physically washed away.
Dorian stood in the grand dining hall, the room entirely empty of guests. The long walnut tables had been cleared of the gold-rimmed porcelain and crystal stemware from the aborted engagement dinner. He watched as two maintenance workers carefully polished the ornate marble fireplace.
“Does the room look different in the light of day?”
The deep, low voice caused his lead capo, Thomas, to jump slightly as he entered the dining hall. Dorian wore a fresh, tailored charcoal suit, his thick, wavy hair swept back immaculately. The small neck tattoo was visible above his collar, a stark reminder of his brutal profession.
“It feels much lighter, Boss,” Thomas replied, his fair, rosy cheeks flushing at Dorian’s sudden appearance.
“Is it possible that a single act of defiance can clear the fog from an entire estate?” Dorian asked, walking toward the fireplace.
He stopped, his cold eyes unreadable but approving. He had spent the entire night in the lower levels, extracting a full confession from Felicia regarding her unauthorized backdoor dealings before orchestrating the systematic destruction of her family’s syndicate. The war had been won before the enemy even realized the battle had begun.
“Have the perimeter guards reported any unusual activity?” Dorian inquired, shifting his focus to the impending conflict.
“The head of security said the perimeter is quiet, sir,” Thomas answered, holding a secure encrypted phone. “But they are expecting some retaliation from the Crane family before nightfall.”
“Do you believe the Crane syndicate has the tactical discipline to breach my defenses?” Dorian asked, a dark, terrifying confidence bleeding into his tone.
“I don’t think anyone could breach your defenses, Mr. Westbrook,” Thomas replied honestly.
Dorian turned his head, his perceptive eyes locking onto the capo. The warm morning light highlighted the sharp angles of his jaw. The air in the room felt suddenly charged, thick with a complex mixture of impending violence and absolute control.
“Will you ensure that a permanent security detail is stationed outside Lottie Hayes’s residence until the funeral is concluded?” Dorian asked, his voice dropping into that intimate, low register.
“You have my word, Boss,” Thomas promised. “Will you be safe here while we handle the Cranes?”
“Does a man who has finally found a reason to clean his own house ever truly lose?” Dorian asked softly.
He held the capo’s gaze for a long, heavy moment, the unspoken tension vibrating between them. Then, the heavy mahogany doors of the dining hall banged open, and another armed guard rushed into the room, his face grim. The war had begun. Dorian didn’t flinch. He gave the room one last, lingering look, a silent promise of absolute victory, before turning to face the fire.
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