Chapter 8
The atmosphere in the estate over the next few days was fraught with unspoken tension. Every time Harper and Silas were in the same room, the air crackled with magnetic, undeniable energy. But Silas kept his distance, burying himself in his syndicate business, leaving the estate early and returning late. Harper understood; she was a complication he hadn't asked for. But she also knew he was running.
Thursday marked exactly one year since the attack on the estate. The anniversary of Elena’s death.
The house was deathly quiet. The staff moved like ghosts, avoiding eye contact. Silas had locked himself in his study since dawn, refusing food, refusing calls. By midnight, Harper couldn't take the oppressive silence anymore.
She poured a glass of water, took a deep breath, and walked to the study. She didn't knock. She pushed the heavy door open.
The room was dark, lit only by the dying embers in the fireplace. Silas sat on the floor, his back against his massive mahogany desk, an empty bottle of scotch beside him. He held a small, framed ultrasound photo in his hands, staring at it with eyes that looked completely shattered. He was a king without a kingdom, a father without a child.
Harper didn't say a word. She walked over, set the water glass on the desk, and slid down the wall to sit on the floor beside him. Their shoulders touched.
"I bought a crib," Silas whispered into the darkness, his voice thick with alcohol and unshed tears. "I built it myself. In the nursery down the hall. I painted the walls yellow. I was going to teach him how to play baseball."
Harper felt her heart break for him. She didn't offer platitudes. She didn't tell him it would be okay, because it wouldn't be. "What was his name?" she asked softly.
"Leo," Silas choked out, the name tearing from his throat like a physical wound. He dropped his head into his hands, his broad shoulders shaking as the grief he had held back for a year finally consumed him.
Harper wrapped her arms around him, pulling his head onto her shoulder. She held him tightly as the ruthless mafia boss wept in the dark. She stroked his hair, rocking him gently, murmuring soft, meaningless words of comfort.
May you like
Bane, sensing his master’s pain, pushed the study door open with his nose. The massive hound limped over and curled his heavy body around Silas's legs, offering his silent, steady presence.
For hours, Harper sat on the floor, holding the broken man and his loyal dog. She realized then that she wasn't just here to save Bane anymore. She was here to save Silas. And as the first light of dawn crept through the windows, Silas turned his head, his face inches from hers, and finally closed the distance. His lips met hers in a desperate, bruising kiss, tasting of scotch, salt, and absolute surrender.
