Chapter 4 - Unraveling the Scars
Back at the penthouse, the grey light of dawn was beginning to pierce through the heavy velvet drapes. I didn’t sleep. I sat in an armchair beside the massive king-sized bed, watching the rise and fall of Grace’s chest as she finally found deep, untroubled rest. The dark circles under her eyes were heartbreaking reminders of the hell my family had put her through.
When her eyelids fluttered open around 8:00 AM, she gasped slightly, instantly sitting up and clutching the duvet to her chest.
“Ethan?” she whispered, disoriented.
“I’m here,” I said softly, standing up and pouring a glass of water from the bedside pitcher, handing it to her carefully.
She took it with trembling fingers, drinking eagerly. Her eyes searched my face, scanning for anger, disappointment, or the coldness she had grown accustomed to. “Where were you?”
“Visiting my mother.”
Grace froze, the glass halting halfway to the table. “You... what did you do?”
“She’s gone, Grace,” I said, sitting on the edge of the mattress and taking her cold hand in mine. She tried to pull away out of reflex, but I held on gently until she let me. “I stripped her of her power, cut her ties to the syndicate, and banished her to Europe. She will never step foot in Chicago again. She will never come near you or our baby.”
Grace stared at me, her lower lip trembling. A single tear slipped down her cheek. “You banished your own mother?”
“She wasn't a mother to me the moment she drove my wife away,” I replied fiercely. I reached out, my thumb gently wiping away the tear on her cheek. The softness in her skin felt like a miracle I didn’t deserve. “I am so sorry, Grace. For not finding you sooner. For believing the lie. For letting my world bleed into yours.”
“I was so scared, Ethan,” she whispered, her voice cracking as the floodgates finally opened. She leaned forward, burying her face against my shoulder, her small frame shaking as she sobbed out seven months of accumulated terror, loneliness, and exhaustion.
I wrapped my arms around her, pulling her tightly against my chest, burying my face in her hair. I breathed in the scent of lavender soap—cheap hotel soap—and vowed right then and there that no matter what enemies crawled out of the woodwork, I would protect this fragile peace with my dying breath.
“You’re safe now,” I murmured against her hair, kissing her temple. “You never have to clean another hotel room. You never have to look over your shoulder. You are home.”
For a long time, we just held each other, two broken pieces fitting back together in the quiet sanctuary of the morning. But in the underworld, peace is never permanent.
Later that afternoon, while Grace was resting, my phone buzzed violently on the coffee table. I picked it up. It was a secure, encrypted text from Dante, my head of security.
May you like
Boss, word is spreading that you’ve broken ties with Madame Vivian and reclaimed your wife. The Valenti syndicate just got word. They’re moving men into position downtown. They think you’re vulnerable.
A dark, lethal smile touched the corners of my lips. Let them come. They thought an emotional connection was a weakness. They were about to learn it was the most dangerous weapon I possessed.
