Chapter 2 - The Lion's Den
For three days, the penthouse was a fortress under siege. The luxury of the upper floors felt like a gilded cage. Outside, the news reported "gang activity" and "unprecedented transformer explosions" across Manhattan, but I knew the truth: Julian was tearing the city apart to reach us, and Elias was methodically cutting off his hands.
My daughters—whom I named Maya and Lily—were thriving under the care of a private pediatrician Elias had brought directly into the penthouse. Their cheeks, once gray and sunken from the frost, were now plump and pink. Every evening, despite the blood on his hands and the war raging in the streets, Elias would walk into the nursery.
It was a strange, surreal sight. A six-foot-three mob boss, whose name made seasoned detectives sweat, sitting in a plush rocking chair with two tiny pink bundles resting against his broad chest.
"They look like you," Elias said softly one night, his thumb gently caressing Maya’s tiny tuft of dark hair.
I stood by the doorway, holding two bottles of warm milk. "They have my eyes. But I hope they get your courage."
Elias looked up, his gaze holding mine. "Courage isn't the absence of fear, Ava. It's doing what has to be done even when you're terrified. Like you did under that bridge."
I walked over and sat on the ottoman beside his chair, taking Lily to feed her. "I was terrified every single day of my marriage, Elias. Julian made me feel like I was taking up space in the world. Like my breath was stolen from him."
"Julian is a small man with a big shadow," Elias said coldly. "In Philadelphia, his father built an empire on fear. Julian has none of his father's brain, only his cruelty. When a man like that gets desperate, he makes mistakes."
"And you don't make mistakes?" I asked gently.
Elias paused, his eyes darkening. "I made one, years ago. I trusted a brother. It cost me my family. I swore after that night that no one under my protection would ever bleed again."
A heavy knock at the nursery door broke the quiet moment. Gabriel stepped in, his expression grim, holding a silver tray with a burnt leather envelope on it.
"It was delivered to the front gate of our docks, Boss," Gabriel said. "By a boy who was paid fifty bucks to run."
Elias handed Maya to me, his movement smooth and protective, before taking the envelope. He broke the wax seal and pulled out a single sheet of heavy parchment, along with a small, tarnished silver ring.
I gasped. The breath caught in my throat. "That's... that's my mother's ring. Julian took it from me the day we were married."
Elias unfolded the letter. His jaw tightened until the muscle twitched beneath his skin.
"Read it," I whispered, trembling.
Elias cleared his throat, his tone dripping with venom as he read Julian's handwriting:
'To Elias Vance. You always were a scavenger, picking up the trash I discard. Keep the whore if you want her—she was never good for anything but bleeding. But my daughters carry the Cross blood. Return them to the St. Jude Chapel on 4th Street by midnight tomorrow, or I will burn every business you own in this city to the ground. And then I will take them over your dead body.'
Elias slowly crumpled the letter in his fist until it was a tight ball of paper. He didn't look angry; he looked deathly, terrifyingly calm.
"Gabriel," Elias spoke quietly.
May you like
"Yes, Boss?"
"Call the captains. Tell them the peace treaty with Philadelphia is over." Elias turned his eyes back to me, his voice softening just a fraction. "And prepare the penthouse panic room. Tomorrow night, Julian Cross comes face to face with the trash he threw away."
