Chapter 23 - The Blood on the Marble
Claire didn't hesitate. She stepped directly into the open frame, lowering her weapon completely, letting the faint moonlight filtering through the shattered skylight illuminate her face.
"Julian. Put the pin back in."
In the corner of the concrete cellar, propped against a stack of tactical crates, sat the most feared underworld patriarch on the eastern seaboard.
Julian Vance was barely recognizable. His bespoke Italian suit was shredded and soaked in dark, drying blood. A makeshift tourniquet was tied tightly around his upper left thigh, and a jagged shrapnel wound scored across his ribs. His dark hair was plastered to his forehead with sweat and rainwater, his aristocratic cheekbones hollowed with exhaustion.
In his left hand, he held a fragmentation grenade, his thumb hooked through the ring.
In his right arm, pressed tightly against his chest inside his blood-stained dress shirt, was ten-month-old Leo.
The moment the child heard her voice, his tiny head snapped up. His face was streaked with tear tracks, his large, deep-blue eyes wide with horror—until they locked onto Claire.
A high, breathless squeak tore from the baby’s throat. He reached his tiny, chubby arms out toward her, his small fingers grasping frantically at the air, his little legs kicking inside his cotton sleeper.
Julian’s gaze shifted from the shadows to Claire’s eyes, and then down to the silver pendant resting against the center of her chest.
His hand shook. The ruthless billionaire, the man who had ordered executions without blinking, let out a ragged, broken gasp. The grenade dropped from his fingers, rolling harmlessly across the stone floor—the safety lever still pinned by a cotter pin he hadn't fully released.
"Claire..." Julian whispered, his head slumping back against the wall, a bitter, self-deprecating smile touching his pale lips. "You brought a strike team."
Claire was across the room in three strides. She didn't look at the blood, she didn't look at the weapons. She fell to her knees in the dirt and pulled the baby out of Julian’s trembling grip, gathering the child into her arms.
The instant Leo’s cheek hit the familiar warmth of Claire’s neck, the baby stopped crying. A long, shuddering sigh vibrated through his little body, and his tiny hands gripped the collar of her tactical vest with white-knuckled ferocity, burying his face into her hair.
"I’ve got you," Claire whispered, her voice cracking slightly as she buried her nose in the boy's damp curls. "I’ve got you, Leo. You’re safe."
"He wouldn't eat," Julian muttered, his eyelids fluttering as shock began to pull him toward unconsciousness. "For two days... wouldn't drink water. Kept crying for... for his nanny."
Claire shifted Leo to her left hip and pressed two fingers firmly against Julian’s carotid artery. His pulse was thready, racing at an alarming rate.
"You're in hypovolemic shock, Julian. You’ve lost at least two pints of blood."
"Doesn't matter," Julian breathed, his bloody fingers reaching out to lightly brush the silver pendant resting against Claire’s collarbone. "Sterling... Sterling knows what your pendant is, Claire. It wasn't my wife's. It never belonged to my family."
Claire froze, staring down at him. "What are you talking about?"
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"It belonged to your mother," Julian whispered, blood bubbling at the corner of his mouth. "The Navy didn't send you to Pine Street by accident. You were the key all along."
***
