Chapter 8 - THE RETURN TO THE SANCTUARYThe sun was fully breaking over the city skyline by the time I returned to my penthouse estate. The golden morning light poured through the floor-to-ceiling windows, illuminating the sprawling living room where Sofia was curled up on the sofa wrapped in a heavy cashmere blanket.
My personal physician, Dr. Vance—an old army surgeon who asked no questions and sewed up whatever wounds I brought him—was packing up his medical bag.
“How is she?” I asked quietly, closing the oak door behind me.
Dr. Vance looked up, offering a tired, reassuring nod. “Severe bruising, a split lip, and mild concussion symptoms. I’ve given her a strong painkiller and a sedative. She’ll sleep for the next twelve hours. Physically, she will heal completely in a couple of weeks.”
“And mentally?”
“That,” the doctor said, packing his stethoscope away, “will take longer. But being safe is the best medicine. You handled it, Alex?”
“It’s handled,” I replied simply.
The doctor gave a respectful nod and let himself out.
I walked over to the sofa and knelt beside Sofia. Her face was bruised a deep, mottled purple on one side, her breathing slow and even under the influence of the sedative. Even in sleep, her hand twitched occasionally, reliving the terror of the wedding night.
I gently brushed a stray lock of dark hair away from her forehead.
When we were kids, growing up in the violent, unforgiving alleys of the city’s industrial district, our parents had died leaving us with nothing but debt and enemies. I had promised myself then—sworn on a blood oath—that no one would ever lay a hand on my little sister again.
For a brief moment, I had let her go. I had allowed her to step into the blinding light of high society, hoping she could find a normal life, a normal marriage, away from the blood and the shadows of my world.
It was a mistake. But it was a mistake I would never make twice.
My phone vibrated in my pocket. I pulled it out and glanced at the screen.
Message from Marcus: “The package is delivered, Boss. Warehouse 9 is secure. They’re currently sitting in the dark, waiting to see what happens next. What’s the next move?”
May you like
I typed a single word back: ‘Wait.’
Letting them sweat in the dark was a luxury they deserved. Fear was a powerful teacher, and Carmen Robles was about to learn a very expensive lesson in humility.
