Chapter 13 - Unmasking the False Bride
For three days, the storm refused to break over Lake Michigan.
In the private recovery room of Blackwood Hall, the only sound was the rhythmic hiss and click of the respirator.
Maeve drifted in a fog of fever and shadow. In her delirium, she saw the Ashford mansion, towering piles of dirty laundry, the cold glint of Sienna’s diamond, and the sound of gunshots tearing through the library. She saw the eyes of the devil looking down at her—gray, icy, and ancient.
“Don't you dare close your eyes, Maeve Donnelly.”
The voice pulled her through the dark. It was deep, commanding, refusing to let her slip into the cold water.
Maeve gasped, her eyes fluttering open.
Blinding white light flooded her vision. She tried to move, but a sharp, burning ache in her left shoulder pinned her to the mattress. A dry, pathetic croak escaped her lips. “Water...”
A large, warm hand immediately cradled the back of her head, lifting her gently. A glass straw was pressed against her cracked lips. She drank greedily, the cool water soothing her parched throat.
When she opened her eyes fully, the room came into focus.
Sitting in a leather armchair pulled right against her bedside was Elias.
He wasn’t in a wheelchair. He was dressed in dark trousers and a soft gray cashmere sweater, his long legs stretched out, his dark hair messy, heavy dark circles carved beneath his eyes. He looked as though he hadn’t slept in seventy-two hours.
Maeve stared at him, her chest rising and falling rapidly. “You’re... you’re still standing.”
Elias set the water glass down. A rare, gentle smile touched his lips—a smile devoid of cruelty, softer than anything she had ever seen on his face.
“I stand quite well, Maeve,” he murmured, his thumb gently brushing across her temple, tracing the line of her hairline. “Though according to Dr. Keller, you nearly ensured I would spend the rest of my days kneeling beside your grave.”
Memories rushed back into her mind with terrifying clarity. The assassins. The silenced submachine guns. The searing bullet tearing through her flesh.
“The shooters...” she whispered, panicking, trying to lift her head. “Carmine Moretti—”
“Carmine Moretti is no longer a concern,” Elias interrupted softly, his fingers threading through hers, holding her hand with deliberate warmth. “His warehouses burned two nights ago. His capos surrendered his territory to Gabriel before yesterday’s sunset. Carmine took a permanent swim in the Calumet River.”
Maeve swallowed hard, looking at their joined hands. “And... the Ashfords?”
“Penniless. Exiled. If Sienna or Margaret ever sets foot in Illinois again, they will be arrested on federal fraud charges.” Elias leaned closer, his gray eyes searching hers with an intensity that made her breath catch. “The masquerade is over, Maeve. The entire city knows who you are.”
A cold pang of panic seized Maeve’s chest. She tried to pull her hand away, but Elias held her firm, refusing to release her.
“Then... my brother,” she whispered, tears spilling over her lashes. “You don't need me anymore. The contract is broken. Please, Elias... please don't take the surgery from Leo. Take my life if you want, but let him live!”
Elias let out a low, ragged sigh. He slid off the armchair and dropped to both knees right beside her bed, bringing their eye levels perfectly even.
The most feared man in Chicago was on his knees before a housemaid.
“Look at me, Maeve,” Elias commanded, his voice raw, stripped of every ounce of pride.
Maeve looked through her tears.
“Your brother’s bypass took place yesterday morning,” Elias said quietly. “Dr. Keller flew in the finest pediatric thoracic specialist in the country. The surgery was a complete success. Leo is awake. He is breathing on his own. He is asking for his sister.”
Maeve froze. Her lips parted, a sob catching in her chest. “He’s... he’s okay?”
“He is going to live a long, healthy life,” Elias promised, his thumb wiping a tear from her cheek. “And no one—not the Ashfords, not the Commission, not the devil himself—will ever touch a single hair on that boy’s head. You have my word as a Marchetti.”
Maeve let out a broken, shuddering sob of pure relief, pressing her face into the clean linen pillow. The nightmare was finally over. Her brother was saved. She had survived.
“Thank you,” she wept. “Thank you, Elias.”
“Don’t thank me,” Elias whispered, his voice suddenly thick with emotion. “I put you in that room. I let you play the shield because I was arrogant enough to think I could control every piece on the board. You took a bullet meant for my heart, Maeve. You gave me something no contract, no alliance, and no empire could ever buy.”
He raised his right hand.
May you like
The twelve-carat emerald-cut diamond ring sat in his palm.
“You walked into this house wearing a dead woman’s name,” Elias said, looking directly into her soul. “Now I am asking you to stay in it with your own.”
