Chapter 10 - The Threshold of Dawn
The silence in the library was not peaceful.
It was the terrifying, breathless stillness that precedes a hurricane.
I stared at the glowing blue screen.
Father: Marco Moretti.
Clara wasn't a random maid hired off the streets of Queens.
Her real maiden name was Vance—the younger sister of Dr. Peter Vance, the corrupt neurologist Julianna had bought to manage my prescriptions.
Clara had been Marco’s secret lover for four years before he vanished off the bridge. When Marco went to ground in Europe, he hadn't left his daughter unprotected in the world; he had placed her directly inside the fortress, fifty feet from my bedroom, waiting for the pieces of the puzzle to align.
And Lily...
The three-year-old girl with the dark, unruly curls and the one-eared rabbit...
She wasn't a housekeeper’s daughter who had accidentally stumbled into my room at 12:14 a.m.
She was my brother’s flesh and blood. The sole legal heir to Marco’s forty percent of the Moretti empire.
“Mama reads to me when I can’t sleep.”
“Maybe nobody reads you the right stories.”
Did Clara send her?
Did Marco train a three-year-old child to walk into a lion’s den to save the uncle who held the throne, or was it truly the miraculous, innocent instinct of a child trying to heal a broken giant?
A soft tap sounded at the heavy library door.
Tap. Tap.
It was 12:14 a.m.
The exact same minute she had appeared sixty days ago.
The door swung inward with a faint, smooth click.
Lily stood barefoot on the Persian runner, wearing her yellow lion pajamas, dragging Barnaby the rabbit by his remaining ear. Behind her in the dim hallway stood Clara, dressed in a simple wool cardigan, her hands folded before her, her face pale, beautiful, and completely devoid of fear.
Clara didn't look like a terrified servant anymore.
She looked like a woman who had completed a three-year mission in enemy territory.
Lily walked into the library, completely undisturbed by the heavy silence, the guns resting in shoulder holsters, or the stacks of international shipping ledgers covering the mahogany table.
She walked straight to my desk, set her brightly colored storybook on top of Marco’s letter, and looked up at me with those ancient, knowing brown eyes that had belonged to my brother.
“Mr. Moretti?” she whispered.
I didn't answer immediately.
I looked down at the letter from Rome.
I looked at the gold signet ring bearing our family crest.
I looked at Clara, who met my gaze with quiet, unyielding defiance, ready to defend her child against the King of New York if I chose war.
Then, I looked down at the little girl who had given me back my mind, my strength, and my life.
The world outside Villa Moretti was about to tear itself apart.
Rival families were mobilizing across the Atlantic; the southern terminals were turning into a warzone; and my dead brother was waiting for the snow to melt so he could return to claim what was his.
A battle of blood, betrayal, and kingdoms was marching straight toward my gates.
I reached out.
I took Marco’s heavy gold signet ring from the desk, turned it over in my palm, and gently, carefully slid it onto the silver chain around my neck, tucking it beneath my shirt.
Then, I pushed the ledgers aside, closed my laptop, and leaned down toward the three-year-old girl.
“Sit down, Lily,” I said softly, my voice rich with a power that no army on earth could shake.
May you like
Lily climbed into the grand leather chair, opened her storybook to the first page, and smiled.
Outside the panoramic windows, the winter snow began to fall again over the dark hills, burying the old tracks in pure, unbroken white, while inside the glass fortress, the King of New York waited for the dawn.
