Chapter 5 - The Glass Shatters
I spun around on the cold floor, clutching the letter to my chest.
Standing at the top of the attic stairs was Eleanor Cross, holding a small, silver pearl-handled revolver. Beside her stood Julian, his face twisted into a dark, triumphant smirk.
“I knew you were trouble the second you stepped into my foyer,” Eleanor said, her voice dropping into a terrifyingly calm register. “A waitress from Logan Square? Please. You looked too much like that pathetic girl we kept in the country house six years ago.”
“You killed my sister,” I whispered, my voice shaking with a dangerous, burning rage. “You forced Sarah to have this baby, you paid off the clinic, and when she died, you hid her existence!”
“Sarah Brooks was a disposable nobody who was compensated handsomely for her womb,” Eleanor spat coldly, raising the revolver until the barrel was pointed directly at my heart. “My son needed an heir to consolidate the family's control over the Chicago shipping ports. Helena was barren. It was a business transaction.”
“And Helena?” I countered, standing up slowly despite the gun trained on my chest. “Did she die of a heart attack in Switzerland, or did you silence her too when she started writing these letters?”
Eleanor’s eyes narrowed into icy slits. “Helena developed a conscience. A conscience is a fatal disease in this family.” She looked at Julian. “Take the letter, Julian. We’ll burn it in the furnace downstairs, along with Miss Brooks’s belongings.”
Julian stepped forward, reaching out his hand with a cruel grin. “Give it here, girl. Or my mother puts a bullet in your chest and we dump you in the lake where your sister should have gone.”
“Touch her, Julian, and I will tear your arms from your shoulders.”
The voice didn't come from the attic. It roared up from the narrow stairwell behind them like a blast from an artillery shell.
Julian turned in sheer panic just as a massive hand reached through the doorway, grabbed him by the throat, and slammed his head violently against the wooden support beam. Julian crumpled to the floor, unconscious before he even hit the dust.
Damon Cross stepped into the attic light.
His suit jacket was gone, his shoulder holster was visible, and his face was distorted by a rage so terrifying it made the room feel like it was losing oxygen. Behind him stood Marco and four heavily armed guards, their tactical rifles raised and locked onto Eleanor.
“D-Damon!” Eleanor gasped, her hands shaking as she tried to re-aim the revolver at her eldest son. “She’s lying! She’s trying to destroy the family! She snuck up here to steal—”
“I heard every word, Mother,” Damon said, his voice dropping into a deadly whisper that sent shivers down my spine. “I’ve been standing on the stairs for three minutes.”
Eleanor’s face turned gray. “Damon... listen to me... we did it for you! For the family line!”
“You lied to me for two years,” Damon said, taking a slow, deliberate step toward her. Eleanor backed up until her heels hit a wooden crate, her gun trembling wildly. “You told me my wife died of a heart condition. You made me believe my daughter was damaged. You kept her real family hidden while this woman worked two jobs to survive!”
“She’s a nobody!” Eleanor screamed, her aristocratic composure entirely shattering. “She’s a waitress!”
“She is the aunt of my daughter,” Damon roared, grabbing the revolver out of Eleanor’s hand with a single swift movement and throwing it across the attic, where it shattered against the brick chimney. “And she has done more for Lily in twelve hours than you have done in her entire life!”
Damon turned to Marco. “Lock my mother and Julian in the basement holding cells. Strip them of their comms, their credentials, and their access to the accounts. The board will be informed at three o’clock that I am taking sole executive control of the family estate.”
“No! Damon, you can’t do this to your own mother!” Eleanor shrieked as Marco and two heavy guards seized her arms, dragging her screaming down the dark stairwell. “Damon!”
The attic fell completely quiet, save for the sound of dust settling in the shafts of sunlight.
I stood there, trembling violently, the hospital letter crumpled against my chest, tears finally breaking free and running down my cheeks.
Damon slowly turned to face me.
The terrifying rage in his eyes vanished, replaced by an overwhelming, raw pain that stripped away the mob boss, the businessman, and the legend, leaving only a broken man looking for redemption.
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He stepped toward me, dropping to one knee on the dirty floorboards right at my feet.
“I didn't know, Natalie,” Damon whispered, looking up at me with tears brimming in his storm-gray eyes. “I swear on my daughter’s life... I didn't know what they did to your sister.”
