Chapter 10
The interior of the SUV was a quiet haven, insulated from the frantic packing and terror occurring inside the massive estate. Rafael sat in the plush leather seat, holding his son close to his chest. He gently took the cloth from Emmett’s small hand and began carefully wiping the remaining sticky blackberry juice from the boy's rosy cheeks.
"I'm sorry my clothes are dirty, Daddy," Emmett whispered, looking down at his ruined trousers. "I tried to be careful."
"You have absolutely nothing to be sorry for," Rafael said firmly, his American accent soft and full of absolute conviction. "The clothes do not matter. We will throw them away and buy a hundred more. What matters is that you worked very hard on that cobbler, and I am incredibly proud of you."
Emmett sniffled, resting his small head against Rafael's chest, right over the edge of the dark, sharp tattoos on his collarbone. "Auntie Lucille didn't like it. She said it was garbage."
Rafael closed his eyes, fighting back a fresh wave of homicidal rage. He took a slow, deep breath, forcing his voice to remain calm and steady for his son.
"Auntie Lucille is never going to speak to you again," Rafael promised, his words carrying the heavy weight of an unbreakable vow. "None of those people are ever going to be allowed near you again. They are gone, Emmett. It's just you and me now."
"Just us?" Emmett asked, a small, hopeful smile breaking through the sadness on his face.
"Just us," Rafael confirmed, kissing the top of the boy's head. "We don't need anyone else."
There was a soft knock on the tinted window. Rafael looked up. Vincent was standing outside the vehicle, holding a secure satellite phone. Rafael gently shifted Emmett onto the seat beside him and rolled the window down a few inches.
"I'm sorry to interrupt, Boss," Vincent said, his voice low and urgent. "But we have a situation. Word travels fast. The Moretti family just caught wind of the purge. They think the estate is in chaos. Our scouts are reporting a convoy of their vehicles heading toward the southern perimeter. They are testing our defenses."
Rafael’s eyes narrowed into cold, sharp slits. The deeply masculine, intimidating aura of the Mafia boss instantly surged back to the surface. He had purged his own family to protect his son; he was certainly not going to let a rival syndicate threaten their peace.
"Are the men armed and ready?" Rafael asked quietly.
"Fully mobilized, Boss. Awaiting your command," Vincent replied.
Rafael looked down at his three-year-old son, who was safely strapped into the massive armored vehicle. He then looked back at his most trusted capo. The bright, cinematic daylight caught the cold, terrifying smile that slowly spread across his handsome face.
"Lock down the vehicle. Keep my son safe," Rafael ordered, reaching for the door handle. He stepped out of the SUV, adjusting the cuffs of his unbuttoned shirt. "Tell the men at the southern perimeter to hold their fire until the Morettis breach the gates. I want them to think we are vulnerable."
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"And then?" Vincent asked, a grim smile matching his boss's.
"And then," Rafael said, his voice dropping into a measured, dangerous whisper, "we show them exactly what happens to people who try to take advantage of a father's wrath."
