Chapter 3 - THE SCARS OF VERONA
Dawn broke over the Hudson River, painting the sky in bruised shades of purple and gray.
Inside the master suite, the fire had burned down to glowing embers. Holden sat in a high-backed leather armchair beside the sofa, his eyes bloodshot, a half-empty glass of bourbon sitting untouched on the side table. He hadn't slept a wink.
On the sofa, the little girl stirred.
Her dark eyelashes fluttered. A soft, confused gasp escaped her chapped lips as she tried to sit up, tangling herself in the heavy thermal blankets.
Holden leaned forward immediately, his movements slow and deliberate so as not to startle her. "Easy," he murmured, his deep voice impossibly gentle. "You're safe. No one is going to hurt you here."
The girl blinked, her luminous amber-flecked eyes focusing on his face. For a long moment, she just stared at him, tracing the sharp lines of his jaw and the dark stubble on his chin.
"You have... eyes like mine," she whispered, her voice raspy from the cold.
"What's your name, little one?" Holden asked, keeping his hands resting openly on his knees.
"Lily," she replied softly, clutching the tattered stuffed bear tighter to her chest. "Mommy called me Lily-ann. But she... she went to sleep a long time ago."
Holden felt a sharp pang twist in his chest. "Where were you living, Lily?"
"In the gray place," she said, shivering slightly even under the thick blankets. "With the bad man who smelled like smoke and medicine. He locked the door every time he went out. But today... today the big gate was open, and I remembered what Mommy told me."
"What did your mother tell you?" Holden asked, his voice barely audible.
"She said... 'If the dark gets too heavy, baby, run to the house with the black dogs. Tell them Aurelia sent you. Tell them the cross still burns.'"
Holden’s breath caught in his throat.
Aurelia.
It was his wife’s middle name—a secret name known only to her, her mother, and Holden. It was the name engraved on the inside of his wedding band.
Twelve years ago, the official police report stated that Aurelia and their newborn daughter had perished in the master bedroom when an arsonist set fire to their northern estate. The bodies recovered were burned beyond recognition, identified only by dental records and the charred remains of jewelry.
Or so Holden had been told by the man he trusted above all others: his brother-in-law and chief financial officer, Julian Vance.
Julian. The man who had managed the estate accounts, who had comforted Holden at the funeral, and who had seamlessly stepped in to help run the Cross empire while Holden descended into a pit of vengeance.
Holden stood up slowly, the leather chair creaking in the quiet room. A cold, lethal fury settled into his bones—not the blind rage of a grieving man, but the calculated, razor-sharp focus of an apex predator.
"Lily," Holden said, kneeling beside the sofa. "Do you want some hot chocolate and pancakes?"
The little girl’s eyes lit up, a faint smile breaking through her tired face. "Can I give some to Phantom too?"
"Phantom gets whatever he wants," Holden promised softly.
He pressed a discreet button on the wall panel, summoning Mrs. Gable, the trusted head housekeeper who had served his family for thirty years. When Mrs. Gable rushed into the room and saw the little girl sitting up, she gasped, clapping her hands over her mouth as tears spilled down her cheeks.
"Take care of her," Holden instructed Mrs. Gable, his voice steady and cold. "Feed her, dress her, and keep her locked in this suite with three armed guards outside the door. If anyone—anyone at all—tries to enter, you shoot first and ask questions later."
"Yes, Mr. Cross," Mrs. Gable nodded fiercely, stepping forward to wrap her arms around the child.
Holden turned and walked out of the room.
May you like
As he stepped into the hallway, Phantom was waiting. The massive Cane Corso stood tall, his tail giving a single, heavy thud against the Persian rug, his amber eyes fixed on Holden with absolute loyalty.
"Come on, boy," Holden whispered, sliding his custom Beretta into his shoulder holster. "We have a family reunion to attend."
