Chapter 8
The silence inside the panic room was absolute, a heavy, suffocating weight that amplified every frantic beat of Cora’s heart. She sat on the floor, pulling her knees to her chest, the pristine white apron of her uniform now stained with dust. The thick steel walls muffled the sounds of the war raging above, turning the deafening explosions and gunfire into distant, ominous thuds.
Hours seemed to stretch into eternity. Cora stared at the dark metal of the door, praying to a God she wasn't sure was listening to protect the uncle she had only just found.
Suddenly, a loud, metallic scraping echoed against the outer door. The sound of heavy deadbolts sliding back made Cora scramble to her feet, pressing her back against the far wall. The door groaned open, revealing the smoke-filled ruins of the library.
Benedict stood in the doorway.
He had discarded his vest, his white shirt torn and stained with soot and blood. The extremely short stubble on his jawline was dark with ash, and a nasty cut ran across his high-bridged nose. Yet, his broad shoulders remained unbowed, and his cold, watchful eyes swept the room instantly, finding her in the shadows.
"Are you unharmed, Cora?" Benedict asked, his deep voice a low, exhausted rumble.
"I am fine," Cora gasped, running across the small room and throwing her arms around his waist, entirely ignoring the blood and dirt. "You're bleeding."
"Is a little blood not the cost of cleaning house?" Benedict asked, his large, tattooed hand coming up to rest gently on the back of her head, holding her close.
"Is it over?" Cora whispered against his chest, terrified of the answer.
"Do you believe the Pierce family will ever pose a threat to us again?" Benedict inquired, stepping back slightly to look down into her face. "Dante is dead. His father surrendered when he realized his men were completely surrounded by my sniper teams."
Cora swallowed hard, the brutal reality of the mafia world crashing over her. "And Alessandra?"
"Will you accompany me to the cellar to conclude that piece of business?" Benedict asked, offering his hand.
Cora hesitated for a fraction of a second before placing her hand in his. They walked out of the panic room, navigating the smoke-filled corridors of the ruined mansion. The luxury of the estate had been violently stripped away, leaving only the grim reality of a fortress that had survived a siege.
They descended the concrete stairs to the subterranean holding cells. The air was damp and smelled heavily of earth and iron. Marcus stood outside a heavy steel door, his arm hastily bandaged, but a grim smile on his scarred face.
"She's ready for you, Boss," Marcus said, unlocking the heavy deadbolts.
Benedict pushed the door open and stepped into the cell, pulling Cora gently in behind him.
The room was lit by a single, harsh fluorescent bulb. Alessandra was huddled in the corner on a crude military cot. Her sculpted satin evening gown was completely ruined, stained with dirt and torn at the seams. Her hair was a tangled mess, her face streaked with ruined makeup and sheer terror.
When she saw Benedict, she scrambled off the cot, falling to her knees on the cold concrete.
"Benedict! Please!" Alessandra sobbed hysterically, crawling toward him. "My father... where is my father? He was supposed to come for me!"
"Do you truly believe a father who surrendered his empire to save his own life is coming for you?" Benedict asked, standing perfectly still, an impenetrable monolith of quiet fury.
Alessandra gasped, looking up at him with wide, bloodshot eyes. "He surrendered? No... no, that's impossible!"
"Did you think the men who murdered my brother twenty years ago would fight to the death for a woman who failed to secure the Ashford fortune?" Benedict inquired, his voice dropping to a terrifying, deadly whisper.
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Cora gasped, her expressive brows drawing together in shock as she looked at Benedict. "Her family... her family killed my father?"
"Did she not tell you that piece of the story when she paid your mother to disappear?" Benedict asked Cora, before turning his cold, unforgiving eyes back to the weeping woman on the floor. "Are you ready to answer for the blood on your hands, Alessandra?"
