Chapter 6 - The Cleanse of Eldergate
At 5:00 in the morning, the first gray light of dawn began to break over Long Island Sound.
In the third-floor master suite, Lucia Bellini woke up with a sudden, sharp jolt of maternal instinct. She reached out toward the twin bed across the room.
It was empty.
"Lina?" Lucia gasped, throwing off her blanket, her heart instant slamming into her throat. "Lina!"
She rushed out into the hallway, her frantic footsteps echoing through the silent house. "Lina! Where are you?!"
She reached the top of the grand staircase, ready to scream for help, when she saw a figure standing at the bottom of the landing.
Lucia stopped dead in her tracks, her hand clutching her chest.
Damiano Falcone stood in the grand marble foyer. His clothes were torn and soaked in dark red blood. His face was bruised, a deep gash running along his hairline. But carrying in his arms, fast asleep with her head rested peacefully against his shoulder, was three-year-old Lina.
And Damiano was not wearing his gloves.
His bare, pale fingers were wrapped gently around the little girl’s back, cradling her as if she were made of fragile glass.
"Mr. Falcone!" Lucia cried out, rushing down the stairs, tears pouring down her face. "My God! What happened?! Is she hurt?!"
"She is not hurt, Lucia," Damiano said softly, his voice steady, calm, and absolute. "She is the bravest soul in this house. She saved my life."
Lucia reached out, taking the sleeping child into her arms, hugging Lina tightly against her chest, sobbing with relief. "I don't understand... what happened to you?"
"Carlo betrayed us," Damiano explained quietly, his dark eyes turning cold as steel. "He sold the house to Salvatore Conti. He is in my study right now, transferring the family funds."
Lucia gasped, horror filling her eyes. "Carlo? The man who brought us milk?"
"Take Lina into the pantry," Damiano instructed, reaching into his coat pocket and pulling out the brass key to the reinforced panic room behind the kitchen. "Lock yourselves inside. Do not open the door for anyone until I come for you. Do you trust me, Lucia?"
Lucia looked into Damiano’s eyes. For seven years, she had seen him as a cold, distant shadow—a mysterious benefactor who kept them safe from behind a pair of black leather gloves. But looking at his bare hands now, seeing the profound, fierce tenderness in his eyes as he looked at her daughter, she knew the truth.
"I trust you with my life, Mr. Falcone," Lucia whispered.
"Go," Damiano commanded gently.
He watched Lucia carry Lina into the kitchen corridor, hearing the heavy iron door of the panic room click securely shut.
Once they were safe, the warmth vanished entirely from Damiano’s face. He turned toward the grand mahogany staircase, his posture straightening, radiating an aura of lethal, absolute vengeance.
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He did not put his gloves back on.
He reached down into his belt, pulled out Viktor’s silenced pistol, and began his long, slow march up the stairs to his study.
