Chapter 7 - The Don's Judgment
The Moretti estate in the Hudson Valley was a fortress built of limestone, iron, and bulletproof glass, set on three hundred acres of private pine forest.
Mara sat in an enormous, velvet-lined armchair in the private study, holding a porcelain cup of chamomile tea she hadn't touched. A female doctor in crisp medical scrubs was kneeling beside her, applying antiseptic to the cut on Mara’s cheek and wrapping a soft bandage around her bruised ribs.
In the center of the room, on a sprawling cashmere rug, Gianna sat happily gnawing on a silver rattle. She was wearing a fresh velvet onesie, her curls brushed, her fever completely broken.
Salvatore stood near the mahogany desk, watching them. He had changed into a fresh shirt, but the dark circles under his eyes remained.
"The doctor examined her," Salvatore said, breaking the silence. "Dehydration, early stages of hypothermia, but no permanent damage. The doctor said... if she had stayed in that alley another thirty minutes, her heart would have stopped."
Mara set the teacup down on the table with a soft clink. "She's tough. She fought hard."
"She survived because of you." Salvatore walked over, leaning against the edge of the desk, crossing his arms. "Luca ran your file. Mara Quill. Age twenty-four. Foster care from age six to eighteen. No criminal record. Four jobs in six years, currently making twelve dollars an hour cleaning toilets at my hotel."
Mara felt her spine stiffen. Her old defenses bristled. "Are you going to pay me off to keep my mouth shut, Mr. Moretti? Or are you going to have your men put me in the Hudson so I don't talk about what happened?"
A faint, sardonic smile touched the corner of Salvatore’s mouth.
"Do you really think so little of me?"
"I know what your name means," Mara said bluntly, refusing to look away. "I know men like you don't leave witnesses. I don't care about your money, and I don't care about your war. Just let me go back to my life."
"You don't have a life back there anymore," Salvatore said flatly. "Your apartment was compromised. Cassian's remaining allies know your face. If you step outside my perimeter, you will be dead before dusk."
"Then give me a bus ticket to Chicago. Give me a fresh start."
As if understanding the conversation, Gianna dropped her rattle. She crawled across the thick rug, using the edge of Mara’s chair to pull herself up onto her chubby legs. She reached up with both hands, babbling softly, tugging at the hem of Mara’s borrowed sweater until Mara leaned down and lifted her into her lap.
Gianna immediately rested her head against Mara’s chest, stuck her thumb in her mouth, and closed her eyes.
Salvatore watched the interaction in silence, his eyes dark with an emotion Mara couldn't read.
"She doesn't let anyone touch her," Salvatore said quietly. "Her mother died when Gianna was two weeks old. Her nannies are terrified of her crying because they fear my reaction. But with you... she breathes."
"Babies know who keeps them safe," Mara whispered, stroking Gianna’s back. "That's all."
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"Exactly," Salvatore said. "Which brings me to my decision."
***
