Chapter 10
By two in the morning, the lodge had returned to absolute, peaceful quiet.
The broken wine trolley and shattered glass had been cleared; the overturned gift-wrapping table had been righted; and fresh pine logs crackled in the hearth, throwing warm, dancing light across the clean timber floors. The Vance mercenaries had been loaded into transport vans bound for federal holding under anonymous tips, their weapons seized, their threat completely neutralized.
Richard walked up the grand staircase to his private master suite on the second floor.
He opened the heavy oak door quietly. The room was warm, smelling of lavender and chamomile. Little Noah was sitting propped up in the center of the massive king-sized bed, wrapped in a soft, oversized wool sweater, his freshly bandaged feet tucked beneath a thick down comforter. He had a bowl of warm broth on a tray in front of him, his rosy cheeks flushed with healthy color, his bright hazel eyes wide and calm.
On the nightstand beside him rested the handmade wooden airplane, its red ribbon straightened and neat.
"Grandpa," Noah said softly, a bright, pure smile breaking across his face. "Did you finish your party?"
Richard felt the ice around his heart melt away completely. He walked over to the bed, sat down on the edge of the mattress, and gently cupped Noah’s chin in his large, warm hand.
"Yes, my boy," Richard murmured, his deep baritone warm and full of protective love. "The party is over. Now it’s time to rest."
"Did you like the plane, Grandpa?" Noah asked, pointing a small finger at the nightstand. "I made the wings from the wood behind the barn."
"It is the finest gift I have ever received in sixty-one years, Noah," Richard said softly, picking up the toy and turning it over in his hands. "It will stay on my desk forever."
Noah leaned his head against Richard’s arm, yawning sleepily. "Grandpa... will Mommy ever come see my plane?"
Richard paused, his thumb gently smoothing back the boy's soft hair. "Mommy sees it right now, little bird. She is watching over you every single second."
Noah smiled, his eyelids drooping, drifting into a deep, peaceful sleep under the warm blankets.
Richard sat watching him for several minutes, ensuring the boy’s breathing was slow and regular.
Suddenly, the encrypted satellite phone in Richard’s trouser pocket vibrated with a sharp, insistent hum.
Richard slipped the phone out, glancing at the screen. It was an unlisted satellite transmission originating from an offshore vessel in the North Atlantic. He stepped quietly onto the private balcony, closing the glass door behind him to avoid waking the child.
He brought the phone to his ear. "Speak."
A raspy, unfamiliar voice crackled through the secure line, laced with static and the sound of crashing waves:
"Richard Bellacorte. You handled the Vances well... but Julian was only the distraction. While your men were securing the lodge, Elena’s real family landed in Denver. They know Noah is with you. And they’re coming to take back what belongs to them."
The line went dead with a sharp click.
Richard slowly lowered the phone. The freezing Colorado blizzard howled against the stone balustrade, swirling white powder into the dark pine forest below.
He looked down at his family signet ring, then through the glass at Noah sleeping peacefully with the wooden airplane beside his pillow.
The war inside his house was finished. The traitors were purged.
But the true, ancient war for his grandson’s bloodline had only just crossed the horizon.
May you like
Richard slipped the phone back into his pocket, his jaw hardening into unbreakable granite, his cold grey eyes fixed on the dark mountain road below.
"Let them come," Richard whispered into the blizzard. "We will be waiting."
