Chapter 7 - The Vulnerable Heart
When I walked back up to the main house, the halls were quiet.
I walked down the long corridor toward the master residential wing. The door to the secondary bedroom was slightly ajar, a warm sliver of light spilling onto the dark hardwood floor.
I pushed the door open softly.
Maria was sitting on the edge of the large bed, rocking a sleeping Sofia in her arms. The little girl had her face buried in her mother’s shoulder, her breathing slow and rhythmic.
Maria looked up as I entered. She saw the dark stain of rain on my coat, saw the cold, unyielding tension lingering in my posture, and she knew instantly what had happened downstairs.
She carefully laid Sofia onto the bed, pulling the heavy duvet over her shoulders, before stepping quietly out into the hallway, closing the door behind her.
"They found us, didn't they?" Maria whispered, her voice breaking.
"They tried," I replied, standing two feet away from her in the quiet hall. "It's taken care of."
"It's never taken care of, Daniel!" Maria sobbed, dropping her face into her hands, her shoulders heaving. "Leo will keep sending men! He won't stop until Sofia is gone! I have to leave... I have to take her and run to Canada or Europe—"
Before she could finish her sentence, I stepped forward, taking her wrists gently into my hands and pulling them away from her face.
"You're not running anymore, Elena," I said, my voice softer than it had ever been.
"Why are you doing this?!" she cried out, tears streaming down her pale cheeks, looking up at me with raw, desperate confusion. "Why risk everything for us?! You don't know us! We were just strangers who cleaned your house!"
I looked down into her eyes—eyes that had carried four years of unbearable grief and terrifying strength for the sake of her child.
"Because for thirty-four years, I thought power meant being alone," I whispered, my thumb tracing the line of her jaw. "I thought if I let anyone close, they would use it to destroy me. But when your daughter covered me with that blanket... she showed me that I was already dead."
Maria’s breath caught in her throat.
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"I am not letting you go, Elena," I said, my hand sliding around the back of her neck, pulling her close until our foreheads rested against each other. "Not to Chicago, not to Canada, and not to Leo Moretti."
Maria let out a long, shuddering sigh, her hands coming up to clutch the front of my shirt, leaning her weight against me as if she had finally found a place where she could rest.
