Chapter 6 - The Scent of Gunpowder and Rain
The smell of gunpowder hung heavy in the crisp mountain air.
Beatrice stood perfectly still in the entryway, trapped in Leo Rossi’s fierce embrace.
His heart pounded against her chest, a steady, violent drumbeat.
She could feel the cold steel of his weapon pressing into her hip.
She should have been terrified.
She had just witnessed a slaughter.
She was standing in the arms of a ruthless mafia boss covered in the blood of his enemies.
But as Leo’s strong arms banded around her soft waist, the only thing Beatrice felt was an overwhelming sense of safety.
"Daddy?" Lily's small voice broke the heavy silence.
Leo instantly pulled back, though he kept one hand firmly anchored on Beatrice’s hip.
He looked down at his daughter, his hardened features melting into absolute adoration.
"I'm here, Princess," Leo said, his voice a low, soothing rumble.
Lily peeked around Beatrice's legs, staring at the blood on her father's crisp white shirt.
"Are you hurt?" the little girl asked, her lower lip trembling.
"No, sweetheart," Leo promised, crouching down to her eye level.
"It's not my blood."
He didn't lie to her.
Men in Leo’s world learned early that lying to children only made them weaker when the monsters finally came.
Mateo walked through the reinforced front door, his face an emotionless mask.
He was wiping down the barrel of his automatic rifle with a rag.
"Perimeter is clear, Boss," Mateo reported, not even looking at the bodies scattered across the driveway.
"They were Kensington's private guard."
Leo’s jaw tightened, the muscles ticking beneath his jawline.
"Burn the vehicles."
"And the bodies?" Mateo asked.
"Leave them for the wolves," Leo said coldly.
Beatrice shivered, the reality of the mob world crashing down on her all over again.
Leo noticed instantly.
He stood up, his hand catching Beatrice’s elbow with surprising gentleness.
"Mateo will handle the outside," Leo said, his gray eyes locking onto hers.
"You need to get warm, Beatrice. Both of you."
He led them deeper into the fortress-like safe house.
The interior was stunning, a massive expanse of dark wood, soaring glass windows, and a roaring stone fireplace.
It didn't look like a hideout for criminals.
It looked like a billionaire’s private sanctuary.
Leo guided them to a massive leather sofa in front of the fire.
He disappeared down a hallway and returned a moment later with a thick medical kit and a warm, damp towel.
"Sit," he instructed Beatrice.
She opened her mouth to protest, to say she was fine, but the look in his eyes stopped her.
She sat.
Leo knelt before her for the second time in twenty-four hours.
He carefully wiped the dirt and soot from her pale face.
His large, calloused hands were incredibly precise, treating her as if she were made of spun glass.
"You didn't hesitate," Leo murmured, his thumb brushing her cheekbone.
"When the shooting started, you didn't freeze. You grabbed my daughter and ran."
"I just did what I had to do," Beatrice whispered, her heart fluttering.
"Most men would have frozen."
Leo leaned closer, his gaze dropping to her lips for a fraction of a second.
"You have the heart of a lioness, Beatrice Miller."
Beatrice’s breath hitched.
No one had ever called her anything but clumsy, heavy, or in the way.
"I'm just a maid," she breathed, entirely overwhelmed.
Leo’s eyes darkened, a dangerous possessiveness flaring in the gray depths.
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"Never say that word again," he commanded softly.
"You are the woman who holds my world together."
