Chapter 6 - A New FoundationAt 6:55 PM, I walked up the stone steps of the Beacon Hill estate.
Mrs. Gable opened the door before I could even knock. She looked down at my right arm—now free of the heavy purple cast, though still slightly stiff and wrapped in a supportive black compression sleeve.
“About time,” Mrs. Gable said, a rare, genuine smile cracking her rigid expression. “He’s been pacing the dining room for an hour complaining about water spots on the wood.”
I walked into the grand dining room.
The chandelier was dimmed to a warm, amber glow. The mahogany table was immaculate, reflecting the light like dark water.
Declan stood near the French doors, wearing a crisp white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his forearms, revealing strong, corded muscles. He held two crystal glasses of sparkling cider.
He turned as I entered. For a second, the cold, untouchable mafia boss exterior melted away, replaced by something entirely human, warm, and steady.
“Your arm looks better,” Declan said, walking toward me.
“It’s healed,” I said, stopping a few feet away. I looked up at him, finally meeting his slate-gray eyes without looking down. “Though I notice you still haven't hired anyone to polish the mahogany properly.”
Declan stopped right in front of me, handing me one of the crystal glasses. His fingers brushed lightly against mine.
“I didn't want anyone else,” he said softly.
I took a sip of the cider, feeling the bubbles tickle my throat. “Mr. Walker, what happens now? The trial is over. Tony and Marcus are locked away for twenty years. The auditors are gone.”
“Now,” Declan said, his gaze dropping slowly to my lips before rising back to my eyes, “you stop calling me Mr. Walker.”
I felt a warm flush creep up my neck. “Declan?”
“Much better,” he murmured. He reached out with his left hand, gently tracing the edge of the black compression sleeve on my right arm. “And as for what happens now... that depends entirely on whether you’re willing to accept a promotion.”
“What kind of promotion?”
“Head of household operations,” Declan said, a slow, devastatingly handsome smile breaking across his angular face. “With a seat at the head of the table. Permanently.”
I looked at the long mahogany table, then back at the man who had torn apart an entire criminal enterprise just to make sure nobody ever hurt me again.
I smiled, resting my hand over his.
May you like
“Only if I get to pick the menu,” I said.
Declan laughed—a rich, genuine sound that chased the last shadows out of the grand estate—and pulled me close.
