Caring for the Mafia Son

hel

ofter and richer than anything I'd ever slept on. For a brief m

caught up w

asn't

too silky, the

m was enormous, bright, elegant, and utterly unfamiliar. Gold drapes f

e memories c

e

de

n Mon

n right after the incident. I must've cri

and, where my phone lay face

a

before I could press the scree

e I could even answer

fectly, and though age had softened his face, his posture carried a quiet strength. H

ers. He looked far more intimidating, with a cold stare and a

his voice deep and steady. "You may call me

usly, unsure w

d gestured for the younger

, my heart ne

age cer

, as if this were normal. "So Mr Montrel went ahead

-Rachel Owens and Damien Montrel. The signature of the man who

. "You're seri

Mr Vance said. "This guara

I stared at the paper until my vision blu

, both men were

matter?" I asked

n, Mrs Montrel. No need to be anxious. We al

pped and businesslike. "We're to inform you

repeated,

ng man said. "The east wing, however, is restricted. Do not enter. The

ding that "business" meant

limited. You'll require permission to leave the estate, and when you do, our men will

But I have college-an

't waver. "I'm aware, Mrs Montrel. But those things

erything-the paper I'd signed, the rules, the fe

forcing my voice s

with the younger man. "Almost. There's

I asked

hed with faint amusement, li

Vance said. "Mr

ed. "Hi

ld. You'll find him in the playroom. Master Da

me to follow. My heart pounded as we walked through long, echoing hallways lined

decorated with stickers and tiny hand-drawn

e," he said quietly. "But he's

to expect. The young

e boy sat on the floor surrounded by colored blocks. He looked

, the fear, even my thoughts. All I saw was thi

ind me. "Mrs Montrel," he m