Chapter 13 - The Echo of the Past
The conservatory was filled with exotic ferns, orchids, and the sound of the rain beginning to tap against the glass panes overhead.
Amanda Vance looked like a shadow of the woman who used to host high-society charity galas in the city. Her designer coat was damp, her hair was unstyled, and her eyes were wild and bloodshot. When Nora walked through the glass doors flanked by Marcus, Amanda flinched as if she were seeing a ghost.
“Nora,” Amanda breathed, taking a shaky step forward. “Oh, thank God... you’re alive. You have to help us.”
Nora stopped ten feet away, keeping her arms crossed tightly over her chest. She looked at the woman who had watched her son lock Nora in a basement, the woman who had looked the other way while her family destroyed Nora's life.
“Help you, Amanda?” Nora asked, her voice dangerously calm. “Your son kept me locked in a cellar for eighteen months. Your husband’s empire was built on smuggling and intimidation. What could I possibly do for you?”
“Cameron is gone!” Amanda sobbed, her composure cracking completely as she fell to her knees on the stone floor. “The federal prosecutors took everything—our homes, our bank accounts, our cars. Cameron is hiding in a motel across state lines, terrified that the Eastern Syndicate is going to finish him off for losing their money. You’re the only one who can talk to Dante. You can ask him to call off his associates. Please, Nora! Have mercy!”
Nora stared down at the weeping woman. A year ago, this woman’s tears would have broken her heart. A year ago, Nora would have knelt beside her and tried to comfort her.
Now, there was only cold, clear space inside her chest.
“Mercy,” Nora repeated quietly. She walked closer, looking down at Amanda with eyes that mirrored the cold gray of the bay outside. “Did Cameron show me mercy when I begged him to let me see my aunt before she died? Did your family show me mercy when you stole my career, my passport, and my freedom?”
Amanda choked back a sob, unable to meet Nora’s gaze.
“You reap what you sow, Amanda,” Nora said, her voice steady and unshakable. “Go back to your son. Tell him that if he ever steps foot in this city again, Dante won't just hand him over to the federal authorities—he’ll feed him to the harbor fish.”
With that, Nora turned her back on the kneeling woman, walked out of the glass conservatory, and slid the heavy door locked behind her.
Standing in the hallway, leaning casually against the stone pillar, was Dante. He had heard every word.
He pushed off the pillar, walked over to her, and cupped her face in his hands, his thumb gently brushing away a stray tear that had managed to escape her eye.
“Are you alright?” he asked softly.
May you like
Nora looked up into his fierce, protective eyes, and for the first time in her life, she felt completely, perfectly weightless.
“I’m better than alright,” she whispered, leaning up to kiss him. “I’m free.”
