Chapter 7
The armored SUV tore through the snowy, winding roads, leaving the chaos of the Cross mansion far behind. Inside the heavy vehicle, the silence was thick and suffocating, punctuated only by Lily's quiet sniffles. The adrenaline was slowly beginning to recede, replaced by the crushing weight of reality.
They arrived at one of Damon's heavily fortified safe houses—a sprawling, brutalist concrete structure hidden deep within a forested private estate outside the city limits. The gates opened seamlessly, and heavily armed Mercer guards immediately swarmed the vehicle, forming a protective perimeter.
Damon escorted them inside to a stark, brightly lit medical wing. A trusted syndicate doctor immediately began a physical evaluation of Miriam. Damon stood in the corner of the room, his broad shoulders tense, his tailored dark suit dusted with plaster from the firefight.
Mara sat in a corner chair, holding a sleeping Lily in her lap. The toddler had finally succumbed to exhaustion, her little boots dangling over Mara's arm. Mara looked down at her own hands; they were shaking uncontrollably. Just hours ago, her biggest concern was folding napkins for a Christmas reception. Now, she was a shield in a mafia war.
"She is malnourished, and she has a mild vitamin D deficiency from lack of sunlight," the doctor reported quietly to Damon, loud enough for Mara to hear. "But physically, there is no permanent damage. Psychologically, however... she will need time, Mr. Mercer. Severe isolation trauma."
"Thank you, Doctor," Damon murmured. He waited until the physician left the room before slowly approaching the medical bed where Miriam sat.
She had been given clean clothes—a soft, grey cashmere sweater and thick leggings. She looked small, fragile, staring blankly at the white wall.
"Miriam," Damon said softly, sitting on the edge of the mattress.
She turned her head slowly to look at him. "It's so bright in here, Damon. That room... it was always so dim."
"You never have to go back to the dark," Damon promised, his voice thick with a fierce, protective emotion. He reached out and gently took her hand, his tattooed fingers wrapping around her pale ones. "I'm going to make this right. I'm going to find the person inside my crew who helped Selena, and I am going to end them."
Miriam’s eyes drifted past Damon, landing on Mara and the sleeping child. "She loves that maid."
Damon turned his head, his gaze settling on Mara. "Mara has been with us for a year. She has been a mother to Lily when I... when I couldn't be."
"I am just doing my job, ma'am," Mara whispered respectfully, her cheeks flushing slightly under their intense scrutiny.
"No," Miriam said, her voice gaining a fraction of its old strength. She offered Mara a fragile, grateful smile. "You protected my daughter when bullets were flying. You are family now."
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Mara’s breath hitched. She had no desire to be part of a mafia family, but looking down at Lily's soft curls, she knew she could never abandon the child. She was deeply, irreversibly entangled in the Mercer syndicate's bloody web.
Damon stood up, his jaw setting into a rigid, determined line. "Rest, Miriam. Mara, stay with them. Lock the door. I have a rat to catch."
