Chapter 2 - The Sins of the Patriarch
The mahogany desk felt like the only anchor holding me to the floor. "Say that again," I choked out, my voice dropping an octave into the low, lethal register I used when commanding my lieutenants.
"She is Arthur's child," my mother repeated, her voice steady despite the tremor in her hands. "Your father had an affair twenty-five years ago with a young woman named Mary Miller. Mary was a seamstress who worked for our family's tailoring front downtown. When she got pregnant, Arthur did what he always did—he paid her off, threatened her family, and forced her out of the city."
I looked at Hannah. She stood motionless, her eyes fixed on the Persian rug beneath her worn shoes. She wasn't surprised. She had known all along.
"You knew," I whispered to her.
"I found my mother's journal after she died of pneumonia three years ago," Hannah said quietly. Her voice lacked anger; it was merely heavy with a profound, exhausting sadness. "My mother never asked your father for a single penny after she left. She raised me alone in a two-room apartment in South Boston. She worked twelve-hour days at a dry cleaner until her lungs gave out. On her deathbed, she made me promise never to seek out the Delacroix family. She said your father was a devil."
"He was," Florence interjected softly, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. "Arthur was a monster to everyone he claimed to love."
"Then why are you here?" I demanded, stepping around my desk until I was standing inches from Hannah. My heart pounded against my ribs. The Delacroix name was built on blood, loyalty, and secrecy. In my world, an illegitimate heir wasn't just a family embarrassment—she was a tactical vulnerability. If my rivals in the syndicate discovered Arthur Delacroix had an unacknowledged daughter, Hannah would become a target for ransom, or worse, a pawn to dismantle my empire.
"Did you come here for a payout?" I pressed, my tone hardening as my defensive instincts kicked in. "Did you wait until my father died, dress up in a maid's uniform, and slide into my house to squeeze money out of a dying woman?"
"Christopher!" my mother barked, slapping the arm of her wheelchair.
Hannah didn't flinch. She raised her chin and looked straight into my eyes, her green gaze burning with an unmistakable, pure defiance. "I didn't come here for your blood money, Mr. Delacroix. I don't want a dime of your estate. I don't want your name. I came here because three months ago, I saw a local news report that Florence Delacroix was terminally ill."
She paused, taking a shaky breath. "My mother spent her entire life hating your father, but in her journal, she wrote one thing about Florence. She wrote that when Arthur found out about the pregnancy and threatened to ruin my mother's life, Florence secretly came to her apartment. Florence gave her ten thousand dollars of her own personal jewelry money and told her to run far away where Arthur couldn't hurt her. My mother survived because of your mother's mercy."
Hannah looked toward Florence with an expression of pure reverence. "I didn't come here to steal from you, Christopher. I came here to pay a debt. I wanted to care for the only person in this godforsaken family who showed my mother humanity."
The silence in the room was absolute. The accusations caught in my throat, turning into ash.
I looked at my mother. Florence bowed her head, fresh tears slipping past her wrinkled cheeks. "When Hannah applied for the housekeeping position six months ago under her mother's maiden name, I recognized her instantly, Christopher. She has Mary's eyes. She has Arthur's stubborn chin. I let her stay because... because I was lonely, and I wanted to make amends for the sins of the man I was forced to marry."
My mind raced through the implications. My father, Arthur Delacroix, had built our family's fortune through iron-fisted cruelty, loan sharking, and racketeering. I had spent the seven years since his death trying to legitimize our operations, shifting our capital into real estate, hotels, and shipping, trying to scrub the blood from our name.
If my Underboss, Paulie "The Hammer" Vance, found out about Hannah, he would see her as a threat to the family succession. Paulie was a dinosaur from my father's era—a man who believed in violence and ancient blood oaths. He was already suspicious of my efforts to go legitimate.
"Does anyone else know?" I asked Hannah, my voice urgent. "Did your mother tell anyone else? Did you tell friends? A boyfriend?"
"No one," Hannah replied. "I live alone. I have no family left."
"You have a brother," Florence said firmly, looking between us. "Christopher, look at her. She is your sister. She has been scrubbing your floors while carrying the weight of our family's cruelty on her shoulders."
"She can't stay here as a maid anymore," I said, rubbing my temples as a headache bloomed behind my eyes. "If Paulie or any of the captains notice me elevating a housekeeper or asking questions about her background, they'll dig into her past. In my business, curiosity ends in graves."
"I don't want an elevation," Hannah said quickly. "I just want to finish taking care of Florence. Let me do my job."
"You don't understand the world I operate in, Hannah," I snapped, turning to face her. "You think this is about household drama? If the wrong men find out who your father was, they won't care that you scrub floors. They will use you to bleed me dry."
Before Hannah could answer, the internal intercom on my desk buzzed loudly. The sharp sound made us all jump.
I stepped over and hit the speaker button. "What is it?"
"Boss," the rough voice of my head of security, Frank, came through the speaker. "Paulie just pulled up the driveway. He says he needs to speak with you immediately. He brought two of his street captains with him. He says it's urgent regarding the docks."
I looked at Hannah. Her face was pale. I looked at my mother, whose hands were trembling over her lap.
"Get Mother back to her room," I ordered Hannah, my tone leaving no room for debate. "Use the service elevator. Do not come out until I tell you it's safe."
Hannah didn't argue. She stepped behind Florence's wheelchair and quickly maneuvered her out through the private side door of my office.
May you like
As the heavy door clicked shut, I smoothed the lapels of my tailored Italian suit, sat back down at my desk, and opened a ledger to disguise the storm raging inside my chest.
Ten seconds later, Paulie Vance barged into my study without knocking.
