Chapter 8 - THE CONFRONTATION IN THE LIBRARY
I followed Julian into a massive, floor-to-ceiling library framed by dark walnut shelves, thousands of leather-bound books, and a roaring fire in a grand stone fireplace.
I made sure Emma was settled in the adjoining sitting room with a glass of warm milk and a set of coloring pencils provided by Mrs. Gable before I shut the heavy double doors, turning to face the man who had torn my world apart in less than three hours.
Julian was standing by a marble bar in the corner, pouring two fingers of amber scotch into a crystal glass. He didn't offer me one. He knew I didn't drink alcohol.
He took a long sip, staring into the flames of the fireplace, his broad back turned to me.
“Why didn't you tell me?” he asked softly.
The question wasn't angry. It was heavy, laden with six years of missed moments, missed first steps, missed birthdays.
“Why would I tell you, Julian?” I countered, stepping toward the center of the room, my voice rising with built-up anger. “So she could grow up surrounded by men with guns? So she could spend her childhood riding in bulletproof cars and watching her father order hits from a leather chair? Look around you! This isn't a home, Julian. It's a fortress! You live in a prison of your own making!”
Julian turned around slowly, setting his glass on the mantlepiece. The firelight cast deep shadows across his sharp jawline.
“I was fighting a war when you left, Sophia,” he said, his silver eyes dark. “My father had just been assassinated. My uncle was trying to sell our family's assets to the Albanian cartel. If I had shown a second single of weakness, if anyone had known I had a pregnant woman hiding in an apartment in Brooklyn, you would have been executed in your sleep!”
“And I saved myself!” I yelled, tears finally stinging the corners of my eyes. “I saved myself and I saved your daughter! I worked eighty hours a week at Elmhurst! I raised her on a nurse's salary! She is kind, she is smart, she is safe! And in one night, you dragged her right back into the gutter you call a life!”
Julian moved with terrifying speed.
In two long strides, he crossed the room, closing the distance between us until he was standing inches from me. He reached out, grabbing my shoulders with warm, powerful hands.
“I didn't drag her anywhere!” Julian growled, his breath hot against my face. “His name is Oliver! My son walked onto your porch because my driver was compromised by Marcone's men! Do you understand what happened tonight, Sophia?! Oliver wasn't lost! He was kidnapped!”
I SL1.
The air left my lungs completely.
“What?” I whispered, my heart plummeting into a dark abyss.
“Oliver was taken from the car in Manhattan at eight o'clock,” Julian revealed, his voice shaking with raw, controlled fury. “The cat story was what he was told by the man who dragged him out of the vehicle. My security team intercepted the snatch squad three blocks away on Queens Boulevard. There was a gunfight in the subway station. Oliver slipped away in the dark while my men killed the kidnapping crew.”
Julian tightened his grip on my shoulders, looking down into my disenchanted face.
“Oliver didn't wander onto your porch by accident, Sophia,” Julian whispered, the devastating truth hit me like a physical blow. “He survived a hit squad, ran through three blocks of dark alleys in the freezing rain, and climbed the steps of the only house on that street that had a light on.”
May you like
He paused, a single tear slipped down his hardened cheek.
“My son didn't get lost,” Julian choked out. “My son was brought to you by God because his sister was waiting inside.”
