Chapter 2 - The Price of Protection
The rain didn't stop for three days,
turning the Long Island estate into a misty fortress.
Inside the house,
the tension was palpable,
a thin wire stretched to the point of snapping.
Dominic was constantly present,
a dark sun around which the entire household now revolved.
He had cancelled his meetings in the city,
choosing instead to work from his massive mahogany desk in the study.
Every time Bea passed the door,
she felt his eyes on her,
tracking her movements with a predatory focus.
Mrs. Bell,
the head housekeeper,
was becoming increasingly hostile.
She would snap at Bea for the smallest things,
a smudge on a mirror,
a slightly crooked rug,
or a minute’s delay in Leo’s lunch.
“Don't think you’re special,”
Mrs. Bell hissed one afternoon in the pantry,
her face twisted with envy.
“Men like him use girls like you for a moment of boredom,”
she whispered,
her voice like venom.
“When he’s done,
you’ll be back on the street with nothing.”
Bea didn't answer,
she just kept her head down,
scrubbing the silver until her fingers ached.
But she couldn't forget the way Dominic had looked at her at dinner.
He had watched her eat,
encouraging her to speak,
asking her questions about her life before the mansion.
He learned about her parents,
who had died in a car accident when she was nineteen.
He learned about the foster homes,
the struggle to finish school,
and the quiet dreams she had tucked away.
In return,
he told her about his late wife,
a woman of ice and ambition who had never wanted a child.
“Leo was a surprise to her,”
Dominic had said,
his voice devoid of emotion.
“A burden she didn't want to carry.”
Bea had reached out then,
covering his hand with hers for just a second,
before pulling back in shock at her own boldness.
He hadn't pulled away.
On the fourth night,
the danger Dominic lived in finally knocked on the door.
Bea was putting Leo to bed when the sound of tires screaming on gravel erupted outside.
Then,
the muffled pop of gunfire.
She didn't scream.
She grabbed Leo and pulled him into the walk-in closet,
covering his body with hers.
“Stay quiet,
sweetheart,”
she whispered,
her heart loud in her ears.
“It’s just the storm.”
Leo clung to her,
his small body trembling,
but he didn't cry.
The door to the bedroom burst open,
and Bea braced herself for the end.
“Beatrice!”
It was Dominic.
He was covered in rain,
a pistol in his hand,
his eyes wild with a fear she had never seen before.
He found them in the closet and practically hauled them both out.
“Are you hurt?”
he demanded,
checking Leo first,
then turning his frantic gaze to her.
“We’re fine,”
she gasped,
seeing the blood on his shirt—fresh blood this time.
“You’re bleeding,”
she noted,
her hands reaching for his side.
“It’s not mine,”
he growled,
pulling her toward the hidden stairs behind the tapestry.
He led them down into the reinforced basement,
where the other guards were already waiting.
He sat them down on a leather sofa,
his breath coming in ragged gasps.
“Someone followed me from the city,”
he said,
looking at Bea as if he were seeing her for the last time.
“I brought this to your door.”
“I’m sorry,”
he added,
the words sounding foreign on his tongue.
Bea looked at the man who ruled a criminal empire,
and all she saw was a father trying to protect his son.
She stood up and walked over to him,
ignoring the stares of the armed men in the room.
She took the gun from his hand and set it on a table,
then took his face in her hands.
“We are safe because of you,”
she said,
her voice steady and clear.
“Don't apologize for keeping us alive.”
Dominic leaned into her touch,
closing his eyes as a shudder went through his frame.
In that basement,
surrounded by the tools of war,
the billionaire and the maid found a common ground.
The price of his protection was high,
but as he looked at her,
he realized he was willing to pay any cost.
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He wasn't just protecting his territory anymore.
He was protecting his soul.
