Chapter 8 - The Empire
Six months later, the Walsh estate was quiet, but it was no longer a tomb. The cold, sterile energy of the house had shifted. The air conditioning was turned down, and the heavy drapes in the library were pulled open, letting the sunlight warm the Persian rugs. Sophia sat at the head of the mahogany table in the primary dining room. She wasn't wearing a gray maid’s uniform; she wore a tailored crimson dress, her dark hair pinned up with a silver clip. In front of her was the master ledger for the docks, and she ran a pen down the column of numbers, checking the margins.
“The eastern shipments are light by four percent,” she said without looking up. Across the table, Finn shifted uncomfortably. “We had some weather delays, Miss Reed. The cargo—” “The weather delays account for a delay in time, Finn. Not a loss of volume. Who was the foreman on dock four?” “O’Malley.” Sophia closed the ledger. “Fire him. If he’s skimming, we make an example. If he’s just incompetent, we don’t have room for him.”
Finn looked past her to the doorway, where Declan was leaning against the frame, holding two cups of coffee and watching Sophia with absolute adoration. “You heard her,” Declan said, his voice laced with amusement. “Fire him.” Finn nodded, hiding a smirk, and excused himself, leaving the two of them alone.
Declan walked over, setting a cup of black coffee down next to her before leaning down to kiss the top of her head. “You’re terrifying when you do math,” he noted. “Someone has to keep your empire from leaking money.” Declan pulled out the chair next to her and sat. His side was fully healed, leaving just one more pale scar to add to his collection, but the tension that used to permanently reside in his shoulders was gone. “Tommy Sullivan called today,” Declan said casually. Sophia stopped drinking her coffee. “Did he?” “He wants to negotiate a new supply route. Said he’s willing to pay a premium to use our northern roads.” “And what did you tell him?” “I told him I’d have to ask my partner.”
Sophia looked at him. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a piece of paper. It was the debt contract she had signed all those months ago in his office—the $80,000 ledger. He set it in front of her, along with a silver lighter. “I think you’ve worked off the debt, Sophia.”
May you like
She stared at the paper. It was the chain that had bound her to the underworld, to her sister’s ghost, and to a life of scrubbing floors on bloody knees. She picked up the lighter, flicked it, and held the flame to the corner of the contract. They watched it burn in the silver ashtray until nothing was left but black ash. “Feel better?” he asked gently. “I feel...” She took a deep breath. “Free.”
He reached across the table, taking her hand. His thumb brushed over her knuckles, which were completely healed now—soft, unblemished, and free of chemical burns. “So, partner,” Declan smiled, his icy blue eyes entirely warm. “What do we tell Sullivan?” Sophia looked at the ashes, then back at the man who had pulled her from the floor. She squeezed his hand. “Tell him the price just went up.”
