The Monster in the Foyer

Within twenty minutes, the grand mansion was unnervingly quiet again.

The broken glass had been swept into a pile near the ruined display case. The front doors hung off their broken hinges, letting the cool night air sweep through the foyer and carry away the scent of expensive perfume, stale alcohol, and raw terror.

Victoria sat propped up on a velvet sofa in the private library, a white bandage wrapped neatly around her head, sipping warm tea from a delicate porcelain cup. Little Mia was curled up asleep on the sofa beside her, her head resting safely in her mother’s lap, the heavy woolen blanket wrapped securely around her small frame.

Elena stood near the French doors, holding her packed duffel bag, waiting quietly for her ride.

Dante stood by the fireplace, staring into the flickering flames with his hands clasped behind his back.

“The police are twenty minutes out,” Dante said without turning around. “By the time they arrive, Michael’s corporate accounts will be completely wiped, his legal representation will have mysteriously resigned, and his passport will be flagged as a high-flight risk across four continents.”

Victoria took a slow sip of her tea, her eyes fixed on the fire. “Thank you, Dante. If you had arrived five minutes later...”

“I didn't arrive five minutes later,” Dante interrupted softly. “I’ve had a surveillance detail on this estate for six months. I knew what kind of man he was the day you married him. I was just waiting for him to give me the legal pretext to rip his world apart piece by piece.”

Victoria looked down at her sleeping daughter, brushing a stray dark curl away from Mia’s forehead. “And what about us? What happens now?”

“You pack your bags tonight,” Dante said, turning around to face her with a rare, gentle expression. “You, Mia, and Elena. You’re coming home to Palermo. The Moretti estate is big enough for all of us, and nobody will ever lay a hand on either of you again.”