Chapter 5 - THE DESCENT OF THE RESCUE
|
A sharp, double knock rattled the heavy oak doors of the study.
Marcus stepped into the room, his tactical vest unzipped, cold rain glistening on the dark shoulders of his jacket.
Beside him stood a young woman wrapped in a heavy Moretti security trench coat.
She was barely twenty-four years old, with dark wavy hair damp from the storm and large, luminous brown eyes filled with exhaustion.
Clutched tightly against her chest was a three-year-old girl in pink fleece pajamas, holding a stuffed yellow duck.
The little girl had Daniel’s hazel eyes and her mother’s soft, olive skin.
Daniel Whitmore, who had been escorted up the service stairs in handcuffs by two armed guards, fell to his knees in the doorway the moment he saw them.
“Mia!” Daniel choked out, sobs wracking his entire frame.
Mia Alvarez stopped dead at the threshold of the study.
She looked down at the kneeling man in the torn white wedding tuxedo, her expression hardening from terror into absolute, unyielding disgust.
“Don't speak my name, Daniel,” Mia said, her voice shaking with three years of accumulated bitterness.
“You traded our daughter for four million dollars and a seat at a gangster’s table.”
Rose stood up from the sofa, walking slowly across the Persian rug until she was standing two feet from the young mother.
The two women—the bride in white lace and the captive in the oversized trench coat—stared at each other in the firelight.
Rose looked down at the little girl holding the stuffed duck.
“What is her name?” Rose asked softly, tears rolling down her cheeks.
“Her name is Elena,” Mia whispered, clutching her daughter closer.
“After my grandmother.”
Rose reached into the pocket of her bridal gown, pulling out a small velvet box containing the antique diamond earrings Lydia had given her that morning.
She handed the box directly to Mia.
“These belonged to the Moretti family,” Rose said, her voice steady and clear.
“Sell them.”
“Buy a home for Elena where nobody can ever put a lock on your door again.”
Mia looked at the priceless jewels, then looked up into Rose’s compassionate, grieving eyes.
“I thought you knew,” Mia wept softly.
“Lydia told me you had approved of our exile.”
“She told me you laughed when Daniel signed the papers.”
“I never knew,” Rose cried, reaching out to gently touch the little girl’s soft curls.
“I swear on my mother’s soul, I never knew you existed until an hour ago.”
Dominic rose from his chair, walking over to stand beside the young mother.
He looked down at little Elena, his rugged features softening with an immense, protective tenderness.
“Your father worked for my father for thirty years, Mia,” Dominic said, his deep voice filling the quiet room.
“Marco Alvarez was an honest man who died with calluses on his hands.”
“He saved three men from a falling crane on the south docks before he was crushed.”
He turned his dark, predatory gaze down upon Daniel Whitmore groveling on the floorboards.
“Marco would have put a bullet through this coward’s spine before he let him touch you.”
Dominic looked at Marcus.
“Take Daniel to the basement holding cells.”
“Contact the state’s attorney and federal prosecutor Miller.”
“Surrender Daniel Whitmore on charges of human trafficking, extortion, and unlawful imprisonment.”
“Daniel will spend the next twenty-five years in a federal penitentiary where his political family cannot reach him.”
Daniel screamed and thrashed as the two guards hauled him backward out of the study, his curses fading down the long hallway.
Dominic turned back to Mia, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder.
“A private suite has been prepared for you and Elena on the fourth floor, Mia.”
“A private physician and pediatrician are on their way.”
“You will never answer to a Moretti again, but the Moretti empire will fund your daughter’s education until the day she graduates from university.”
Mia broke down into tears, nodding in profound, speechless gratitude as Mrs. Higgins, the head housekeeper, escorted her toward the elevator.
The room grew quiet once more, save for the crackling of the cedar logs.
Dominic looked at Rose, then at Margaret, and finally at me.
May you like
“It is time to settle the final account,” Dominic said, his voice dropping into a register of cold, absolute finality.
“Aunt Lydia has been waiting by her cake long enough.”
