Chapter 7 - The Last Secret
The sun was rising over Long Island, painting the slate rooftops of the chateau in streaks of gold and bruised violet.
The sirens were wailing in the distance—federal marshals, state police, and local units responding to the encrypted panic codes Dante had transmitted across the secure network. By noon, Frank Marcone’s entire organization would be rounded up under RICO indictments backed by the iron-clad ledger found in the wool coat. The war was over before the public even knew it had started.
Inside the nursery, the floor had been cleared of debris. The engineering crew had already boarded up the broken window with temporary plywood, and a team of medical specialists had checked both infants for shock.
Livia was asleep again, nestled deep in her blankets, her breathing steady and deep.
On the floor beside the crib, Nina was curled up against Marina’s chest, fast asleep, her thumb tucked securely in her mouth, the one-eared rabbit clutched in her other hand.
Marina sat on the edge of the velvet armchair, her eyes red-rimmed and swollen from crying, looking up at the man standing by the window.
"You don't have to leave," Damiano said. His voice was quiet, stripped of the terrifying authority he used in the boardroom or the streets. It sounded, for the first time in eleven months, like a human being.
Marina blinked, her voice trembling. "Mr. Serrano... after everything... after what my husband brought to your door—"
"Your husband was a thief, Marina. But your daughter saved my life," Damiano said, turning his head to look down at the sleeping toddler. "She walked through a house that fourteen armed men couldn't secure, and she did in three minutes what I couldn't do in a year. She brought peace back into this room."
Marina swallowed hard, looking toward the crib. "She told me... she told me the little girl in the big room was lonely. She said she could hear her crying through the walls."
Damiano walked slowly over to the crib. He looked down at his daughter—really looked at her, without the barrier of distance, without the cowardice of closed doors and security feeds. He reached out and gently stroked a single strand of dark hair away from Livia’s forehead.
Her skin was warm. Her pulse was steady.
May you like
He didn't pull his hand away.
"She won't be lonely anymore," Damiano said softly.
