Chapter 8
Ethan walked back through the shattered patio doors, water dripping from his soaked white shirt and dark trousers onto the polished marble floor of the corridor. He holstered his sidearm, running a hand through his wet, dark curly hair as he headed up the grand staircase toward the master wing.
Marco was waiting in the upper hallway, holding a clean towel and a fresh magazine. His suit was untouched, having secured the lower levels and containment cell.
"The perimeter is clear, boss," Marco reported softly. "Backup security arrived from our downtown office. The estate is sealed."
"Where is Margaret?" Ethan asked, taking the towel and wiping his face.
"Locked in the lower panic cell," Marco replied, a dark grin touching his rugged face. "She's crying about her wrist. The federal authorities and our legal team are seizing all her assets as we speak. She won't see the sun again."
Ethan nodded grimly. "Good. Stay outside the master suite."
Ethan walked down the carpeted hallway toward his private study. He stopped outside the heavy, reinforced oak door, taking a slow breath to calm the adrenaline pulsing through his veins. He knocked gently three times—their agreed signal.
"Lena," Ethan called out, his deep baritone soft and reassuring. "It's me. It's safe."
A moment later, the heavy brass lock clicked. The door swung open slowly.
Lena stood in the doorway, still holding the heavy silver handgun with trembling hands. Her golden-blonde hair had partially fallen from its updo, delicate strands framing her soft, pale face. When she saw Ethan standing there—soaked from the rain, his white shirt sticking to his muscular frame, but completely unharmed—a massive wave of relief washed over her expressive blue eyes.
She instantly lowered the weapon, setting it onto a side table, and took a step back, her breath catching in her throat.
"You're okay," Lena whispered, her voice trembling.
"I'm okay," Ethan replied quietly.
Behind her, sitting on a plush leather sofa, were Nico and Noah. Both one-year-old twins were perfectly calm, holding stuffed bear toys, their turquoise pajamas dry and warm. The moment they saw their father, their bright blue eyes lit up.
"Dada!" Nico chirped, clapping his tiny hands.
Ethan walked into the room, dropping down onto both knees on the rug. He opened his broad arms, and for the first time that day, both twins scrambled off the sofa and toddled into his embrace. Ethan wrapped his arms around his sons, burying his face in their soft golden hair, inhaling the sweet, clean scent of baby powder and fresh soap.
"I've got you," Ethan murmured, his raspy voice thick with genuine emotion. "Daddy's here. Nobody is ever going to hurt you again."
Lena stood near the window, watching the intimidating Mafia boss cradle his babies with such tender, fierce devotion. Tears welled in her eyes once more, but this time they were tears of pure joy.
Ethan looked up from his sons, his piercing dark eyes locking onto Lena. He took in her pale-yellow dress, her delicate features, and the brave stance she had taken to protect his children.
"Thank you, Lena," Ethan said, his voice deep and sincere. "You stayed. You protected them."
"I told you, Mr. Caldwell," Lena replied softly, a gentle, rosy blush touching her cheeks as she offered him a sweet smile. "I love these boys. I would do anything for them."
May you like
Ethan stood up slowly, holding both boys effortlessly in his powerful arms. He looked at the young woman who had walked into his dark, lonely life and brought light back to his shattered family.
"It's time things changed around here, Lena," Ethan said gently. "Starting today, you aren't just the nanny. You're part of this family."
