Chapter 11 - The Ashes Of The Old Empire
The blare of red and blue police strobes washed across the bedroom ceiling in rhythmic pulses.
Uniformed officers from the Chicago Police Department swept the ground floor, securing the perimeter and loading the two injured intruders into tactical ambulances.
Federal marshals had already arrived at the Cook County jail to transfer Victoria Chase into maximum-security solitary confinement without communication privileges.
Julian sat on the edge of the hallway floor outside the bedroom, leaning his head back against the plaster wall.
A paramedic was kneeling beside him, methodically cleaning the laceration across his temple with iodine and gauze.
Julian winced slightly as the antiseptic stung, but his eyes never left the crack in the bedroom door where my daughters were resting.
Marcus stepped into the hallway holding two disposable cups of lukewarm black coffee, handing one to his brother.
Julian took the paper cup with both hands, staring down into the dark liquid without drinking.
“The state prosecutor just signed the updated indictment, Julian,” Marcus said quietly, leaning his shoulder against the opposite wall.
“Victoria’s burner phone contained detailed instructions for an offshore extraction to an extradition-free compound in South America.”
“She wasn't just trying to intimidate Evelyn.”
“She was planning to hold the girls hostage to force you to liquidate your private trusts into her offshore accounts.”
Julian’s knuckles turned white around the paper cup, crushing the cardboard until coffee spilled over his fingers.
“She spent ten years sitting outside my corner office.”
“She attended our wedding.”
“She toasted our marriage with vintage champagne while calculating how much she could steal if she tore our lives apart.”
“And you handed her the matches, Julian,” Marcus replied, his voice firm but devoid of malice.
Julian closed his eyes, exhaling a long, shuddering breath that sounded like grinding glass.
“I know.”
“I will spend every day of the rest of my life paying that debt.”
The bedroom door opened softly, and I stepped out into the quiet corridor.
I had changed out of the torn emerald gown into a simple gray cashmere sweater and dark denim jeans.
My hair hung loose over my shoulders, and the exhaustion of the night had settled deep into the hollows of my collarbone.
Julian immediately pushed the paramedic’s hand away and stood up, though he swayed slightly as dizziness caught him.
“Are they asleep?” he asked, his voice a cautious, reverent whisper.
“Emma and Grace are asleep,” I replied, looking at the fresh white bandage taped across his forehead.
“Sophie refused to close her eyes until she knew if the hospital took you away.”
A sharp breath caught in Julian’s throat.
“She... she asked about me?”
“Go in,” I said softly, stepping aside from the doorway.
“Keep your voice low.”
“Five minutes, Julian.”
Julian looked at me as if I had just handed him a pardon on the steps of the gallows.
He took off his damp leather boots at the threshold, walking soundlessly in his dark wool socks across the thick Persian rug.
Sophie was propped up against a mountain of pillows on the king-sized bed, clutching her worn plush velvet rabbit under her chin.
Her dark eyes followed Julian as he approached the bedside with careful, measured steps.
He slowly sank down onto his knees beside the mattress, resting his arms gently against the duvet without pressing his weight into the bed.
“Hey, little warrior,” Julian murmured, his voice softer than I had ever heard it in our entire marriage.
Sophie reached out one small hand and lightly tapped the white bandage on his brow.
“The doctor put a band-aid on your head.”
“A very big band-aid,” Julian whispered, offering a faint, lopsided smile that deepened the dimple on his cheek.
“Because I have a very hard head.”
“Mommy said you stopped the bad men.”
Julian’s smile faded, replaced by an expression of fierce, solemn devotion.
“Nothing and nobody in this world is ever going to hurt you, Sophie.”
“Not while I am alive.”
“I promise you that on my soul.”
Sophie tilted her head, her gray-green eyes studying his face with an uncanny depth that belonged to an ancient spirit.
“You look like me when I look in the bathroom mirror.”
“No, sweetheart,” Julian choked out, tears shining in his eyes.
“You look like an angel.”
“I just got lucky enough to borrow your eyes.”
Sophie yawned, her long dark eyelashes fluttering against her cheeks as exhaustion finally conquered her fear.
She pulled her small hand back under the duvet, turning onto her side to nestle into the pillow.
“Stay until the light comes back,” she whispered sleepily.
Julian reached out, his hand trembling as he gently smoothed the edge of the blanket over her narrow shoulders.
“I’ll be right outside your door,” he said, his voice cracking into a ragged whisper.
“All night long.”
He waited until her breathing slowed into the rhythmic cadence of deep sleep before rising to his feet.
He backed out of the room inch by inch, pulling the door closed until only a tiny sliver of hallway light remained.
I was standing by the top of the stairwell, watching him with my arms crossed over my chest.
“You didn't run away,” I said quietly.
Julian looked down at his bandaged hands, his broad shoulders slumped in absolute weariness.
“I ran away five years ago, Evelyn.”
May you like
“It almost cost me everything worth living for.”
“I am never running again.”
