Chapter 2 - The Return of the Winter
Leo Rossi did not look like a man who had just survived a three-hour flight from Miami. He looked like an executioner. His long, black wool coat was unbuttoned, revealing the dark silk lining and the tailored black suit beneath. His face was completely devoid of color, his gray eyes fixed on the scene at the bottom of the stairs with a terrifying, absolute clarity.
Behind him stood Marco and Santos, his two primary enforcers, their faces grim, their hands resting inside their jackets.
“Leo!” Victoria screamed, her voice instantly transforming from venomous cruelty to high-pitched, fragile terror. She wrenched her wrist from Beatrice’s grip and ran toward him, her heels slipping on the wet stone. “Thank God you’re here! This… this monster, this maid you hired, she went insane! She attacked me! She broke into your office, she stole your keys, and she locked poor little Lily in the cellar! Look at my wrist, Leo! Look what she did to me!”
Victoria reached the third step from the top, her hands reaching out for Leo’s lapels.
Leo didn't look at her. He didn't lift his arms to comfort her. He simply stepped to the side, allowing her to stumble past him onto the landing above.
“Marco,” Leo said, his voice a low, gravelly vibration that made the stone walls seem to hum. “Take Miss Kensington to the parlor. Do not let her leave. Do not let her speak to her father.”
“Leo, no! You don't understand!” Victoria shrieked as Marco’s heavy hand clamped down on her shoulder, dragging her up the stairs despite her struggles. “She’s lying! The maid is lying!”
Leo walked down the stairs slowly, his eyes never leaving Beatrice. He saw the torn uniform, the blood on her jaw, the purple swelling of her fingers. He stopped two feet from her, the scent of expensive tobacco and cold rain surrounding him like a shroud.
“Where is the key, Beatrice?” he asked quietly.
“She has it,” Beatrice whispered, her voice failing now that the adrenaline was leaving her body. “In her pocket. Or her bag. Please, Mr. Rossi… Lily’s stopped making noise.”
Leo turned his head slightly toward Santos. “Find the key.”
Santos disappeared up the stairs, returning less than ten seconds later with a heavy brass key ring. He handed it to Leo. Leo didn't hesitate; he inserted the key into the bolt, turned it with a sharp, metallic click, and threw the iron door open.
The cellar was pitch black. On the floor, slumped against a rack of vintage wine, lay Lily. Her small fingers were still clutched around the missing ear of her stuffed rabbit, her chest rising and falling in shallow, erratic twitches.
Before Leo could move, Beatrice pushed past him, dropping onto her knees on the dusty floor. She didn't care about the protocol, she didn't care about the mafia boss watching her every move. She pulled the emergency inhaler from her apron pocket—the spare one she had stolen from the kitchen cabinet weeks ago just in case—and pressed it to Lily’s blue lips.
“Breathe, baby,” Beatrice murmured, clicking the canister. “Breathe for Bea.”
A long, shuddering gasp filled the dark room as the medicine hit Lily’s lungs. The little girl’s eyes fluttered open, focusing through the darkness until she saw Beatrice’s face.
“Bea,” Lily whispered, her small arms reaching up to wrap around Beatrice’s neck. “You stayed.”
May you like
“I’m right here, sweetheart,” Beatrice cried, burying her face in the child’s hair, her large body trembling with a sob she could no longer hold back. “I’m right here.”
From the doorway, Leo Rossi watched them. He didn't step into the room. He didn't speak. But his jaw was set so tightly that a muscle in his cheek twitched, and his hands, usually so steady, were clenched into fists so hard his knuckles were white.
