Chapter 9 - Dawn Over the Harbor
An hour later, the study was quiet again.
The jazz record had finished playing, leaving only the soft hiss of the needle spinning in the empty groove. I stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows, watching the first pale streaks of gray dawn break over the San Francisco harbor.
The rain had stopped. The city below was beginning to wake up—cars moving along the highway, ships gliding across the dark water toward the Pacific, ordinary people living ordinary lives, unaware of the war that had just been fought and won behind the stone walls of the Moretti estate.
The door opened softly.
I didn't turn around, but I heard the light, hesitant footsteps on the Persian rug.
“Mr. Moretti?”
It was Mia’s voice. She was wearing a clean woolen robe, her face bruised and pale, but she was standing upright. Behind her, holding the hem of her robe with one small hand, was Harper.
I turned slowly to face them.
“You should be in bed, Mia,” I said gently, my voice losing the hard, metallic edge it had carried all night. “The doctor said you need rest.”
“I couldn't sleep,” Mia whispered, her eyes shining with unshed tears. She looked at me with a mixture of awe and profound gratitude that no amount of money could ever buy. “Dante told me... he told me what happened. He said Victor is gone. And Victoria... the guards escorted her off the property an hour ago with nothing more than the clothes on her back.”
I nodded. “They’ll never set foot in this city again. No one in this house will ever harm you or Harper. You have my word.”
Harper stepped out from behind her mother’s robe. She looked up at me, her big eyes searching my face, just as she had done on the marble steps hours ago.
“Are the bad men gone?” she asked quietly.
I walked across the room, kneeling down on the Persian rug—not because I was forced to, but because a little girl had trusted me when no one else would. I looked straight into her eyes, just as I had in the storm.
“Yes, Harper,” I said, placing a gentle hand on her tangled hair. “The bad men are gone. And you never have to be afraid again.”
A small, beautiful smile broke across her face. Without hesitation, she stepped forward and wrapped her little arms around my neck, burying her face in my shoulder.
I closed my eyes, holding her tight.
May you like
Seventeen years at the head of the Moretti family had taught me that blood makes you related, but loyalty makes you family. And sometimes, the most important ally in a war for your empire is a four-year-old child in a faded yellow flower nightdress who reminds you how to listen in the dark.
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