Chapter 6 - The Reunion
Through the billowing smoke, I stepped into the room.
It wasn't a bedroom. It was a high-tech nursery combined with a secure bunker. Monitors lined the walls, displaying security feeds of every room in the house. In the center of the room stood a small white wooden crib.
And standing beside it, holding a silver-plated whiskey tumbler with trembling hands, was my brother, Vincent.
He looked older, his hair graying at the temples, his tailored suit wrinkled from shock. He stared at the smoking doorway, his eyes wide and bloodshot, the glass slipping from his fingers and shattering against the hardwood floor.
"Julian..." Vincent laughed nervously, a high-pitched, manic sound. "My god, brother. You always did know how to make an entrance."
I walked toward him slowly, the heels of my boots clicking rhythmically against the floor. I didn't say a word. I didn't need to.
"Listen to me," Vincent stammered, holding his hands up defensively as I closed the distance between us. "It was business! The syndicate was getting weak, Julian! You were losing your edge after Elena died! I had to secure the succession line—I had to protect the Hale name!"
"Elena didn't die," I said, my voice dangerously low. "And my daughter is not a bargaining chip."
Before Vincent could reach for the pistol tucked inside his shoulder holster, I lunged forward, grabbing him by the lapels of his suit and slamming him violently against the reinforced concrete wall. The impact knocked the wind out of him, a guttural groan escaping his lips.
"Where is she, Vincent?" I hissed, pressing the barrel of my gun directly under his chin. "Where is my daughter?"
Vincent choked, his eyes darting toward the white crib behind me.
I released him, letting him slump to the floor like a broken doll, and turned around.
Inside the white crib, curled up under a pink fleece blanket amidst the smoke and chaos, a little girl with dark curls and tear-streaked cheeks was slowly sitting up. She rubbed her eyes with small, chubby fists, blinking against the harsh red emergency lights.
"Daddy?" a small, trembling voice whispered.
My breath caught in my throat. The iron band around my chest snapped. The cold, ruthless mafia boss—the man who controlled half the shipping lanes on the East Coast—dissolved into nothing in a fraction of a second.
I dropped to my knees beside the crib, my hands shaking so badly I could barely undo the latches.
"Chloe," I choked out, tears finally breaking hot over my lashes as I lifted her small, warm body into my arms. "Oh, my god... Chloe. My baby."
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She buried her face in my soaked suit jacket, wrapping her tiny arms around my neck with a fierce, desperate grip. "You came... you came to get me, Daddy. Uncle Vinnie said you forgot me."
"I never forgot you, sweetheart," I whispered, pressing my face into her dark curls, weeping openly for the first time in ten years. "I will never, ever let anyone take you away again."
