Chapter 5 - A Maid in the Sovereign’s ShadowThe door of the study opened with a quiet, pneumatic click.
Marcus stepped into the room, holding an encrypted military tablet displaying live satellite drone feeds.
“Don Christian.”
Christian did not remove his hand from my knee. “Speak, Marcus.”
“Don Salvatore Moretti’s convoy has cleared the Lake Pontchartrain Causeway,” Marcus reported, his voice grim as forged steel. “Twelve armored Suburbans, forty armed soldiers. They are approaching the French Quarter gate.”
Christian looked down at his watch.
“12:45 AM. The old man made good time.”
He stood up, towering and magnificent in the firelight.
He reached into the mahogany wardrobe beside the desk, pulling out a bespoke double-breasted overcoat of midnight-black cashmere.
He draped it carefully around my shoulders over the navy robe, wrapping the warm fabric around my neck, shielding my stitches from the night air.
“Can you walk, Elena?” he asked softly.
“With you, Christian,” I whispered, looking up into his dark, golden eyes. “I can walk anywhere.”
A rare, breathtaking smile touched the corners of his lips—a smile that completely erased the cold executioner and revealed the sovereign beneath.
He offered his right arm, solid as an iron stanchion.
I slid my small, trembling hand into the crook of his elbow, leaning into his strength as we walked down the grand mahogany staircase toward the main salon.
At the bottom of the landing stood forty of Christian’s personal guards, their tactical carbines held at the low ready, their faces masked in black balaclavas.
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When Christian stepped onto the marble floor with me at his side, every single soldier snapped to rigid attention, their heads bowing in deep, synchronized respect.
“Open the iron gates,” Christian commanded, his baritone booming through the vaulted foyer. “Let Don Salvatore see what his daughter purchased tonight.”
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