Chapter 6
By sunset, the war that Victor Vandermark had threatened was over before it ever truly began.
With the council’s full backing, my enforcers swept through the Vandermark estate in Lake Forest, seizing their properties, freezing their foreign accounts, and disarming their remaining loyalists without a single casualty on our side. The Vandermark syndicate was dismantled in less than six hours.
As for Celeste Vandermark, she was given a choice under syndicate law: permanent exile to an isolated compound in Northern Manitoba under 24-hour guard, never to speak to or see another human being again, or face the same fate as her father.
She chose exile, weeping hysterically as my men loaded her into an unmarked transport van that drove north into the freezing wilderness, never to return.
At 8:00 PM, I returned to the estate.
The heavy snow had finally stopped falling, leaving the grand grounds bathed in a brilliant, peaceful moonlight. The house was quiet, warm, and entirely free of the dark tension that had suffocated it for years.
I walked up to the second floor.
Medical specialists from Northwestern Hospital—the best neurologists in the Midwest—were just finishing their examination of my mother.
The head physician, Dr. Sterling, stepped out into the hallway to meet me, a look of genuine marvel on his face.
"It’s remarkable, Mr. Moretti," Dr. Sterling said, shaking his head. "Now that the toxic suppressants have been completely flushed from her system, her neural pathways are regenerating at an astounding rate. She’s already regained feeling in her right arm, and her speech therapist believes she could be talking normally within a month."
Relief, so intense it made my knees feel weak, swept through my body. "Thank you, Doctor. Thank you."
"Don't thank me," Dr. Sterling smiled, gesturing toward the room. "Thank Miss Marlowe. Her meticulous nursing notes over the last two years allowed us to identify the exact chemical compound used against your mother."
I stepped inside the room.
My mother was propped up in bed, sitting upright for the first time in over a year. Sitting beside her, holding a cup of warm tea, was Delia.
When I walked in, my mother looked up. A genuine, radiant smile broke across her face. Slowly, with extreme effort, she raised her right hand and reached out toward me.
"Dom... inic," she rasped out. The voice was weak, scratchy, and broken, but it was her voice.
I rushed to the bed, dropping to my knees beside her, taking her hand and pressing it against my face. "Mother... I'm here."
May you like
"Good... boy," she whispered, her eyes shining with tears of pure joy. She looked over at Delia, then back at me, and gently squeezed our hands together. "She... stayed."
"I know, Mother," I said, looking up at Delia, whose cheeks were flushed pink, tears glistening in her dark eyes. "She stayed."
