Chapter 7
The heavy iron door groaned in protest as it swung outward, releasing a wave of stale, freezing air into the pantry. The smell of damp stone, unwashed linen, and profound despair rolled over them. Matthias Rook stood in the doorway, his broad shoulders blocking the harsh kitchen light from entirely invading the darkness.
“Helen? Are you in there?” Matthias asked, his deep voice cracking slightly, betraying the immense emotional toll of the moment.
From the corner of the small, windowless concrete vault, a shadow shifted. A frail, trembling figure pushed herself up from a thin mattress on the floor. Helen Rook, once a vibrant and powerful woman, was dangerously emaciated. Her clothes hung loosely on her frame, her fair skin pale and covered in dirt, and her hair was matted. But as she lifted her head, shielding her sensitive eyes from the sudden influx of light, her spirit remained unbroken.
“Matthias?” she whispered, her voice raspy and weak. “Is Jamie safe? Did she hurt my baby?”
Matthias stepped into the room, falling to his knees on the cold concrete. He wrapped his arms around his wife, pulling her fragile body tightly against his chest. He buried his face in her hair, the cold, observant mafia boss finally giving way to the agonizing relief of a desperate husband.
“Is he not standing right outside this door? How did you survive this torment for so long, Helen?”
Helen clung to his tailored vest, weeping softly into his shoulder. “She locked me in the night you went to Chicago. She told me you ordered it. She told me you wanted me out of the way so you could marry her. Matthias, she said if I screamed, she would poison Jamie’s food.”
Matthias’s jaw tightened so fiercely it looked as though the bones might shatter. He pulled back slightly, looking into his wife’s sunken eyes, his hands gently framing her face.
“Did you truly believe I could ever sanction such an atrocity against the woman I love? Can you ever forgive my blindness in letting that monster into our home?”
“I didn't know what to believe,” Helen sobbed, resting her forehead against his. “The boy... Jamie... he brought me bread. He kept me alive. If not for him, I would have starved.”
Outside the vault, Jamie broke away from Lorna’s protective grasp. He ran into the dark room, throwing his small arms around his mother’s waist. Helen let out a cry of pure joy, dropping to the floor to embrace her son, kissing his rosy cheeks and weeping uncontrollably.
Lorna stood in the doorway, her softly oval face illuminated by the harsh kitchen lights, watching the family reunite. She felt a profound sense of relief, but her expressive brows remained furrowed. The danger was not completely neutralized.
Matthias stood up slowly, leaving his wife and son to hold each other. He turned his back on the light, facing the doorway. The plaster dust covering his suit made him look like a statue carved from stone. The emotional vulnerability vanished entirely, replaced by a terrifying, absolute thirst for vengeance.
He stepped out of the vault, his leather shoes crunching heavily on the broken wood and plaster. Clarice Voss was still kneeling on the floor, surrounded by the towering enforcers. She was shaking uncontrollably, her sculpted satin gown ruined by the dirt and debris.
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Matthias walked until he was standing directly over her. He looked down at the woman he had shared his bed with for the past four months, the woman who had smiled at him while his wife starved behind a wall just yards away.
“Did you think I would marry you with my wife’s corpse rotting inside the walls of my own house? How long did you plan to keep her in the dark, Clarice?”
