Chapter 8
The grand ballroom slowly exhaled as the heavy doors slammed shut, taking the venomous presence of Ainsley Vale with them. The bright video colors of the room seemed to soften, the natural, cinematic lighting washing over a scene of quiet recovery. Galen Moretti stood in the center of his domain, the unquestioned authority in the room, but his mind was far from the politics of the syndicate. His entire focus was on the small, trembling girl holding his hand.
"Eira," Galen said softly, kneeling down once more so he was eye-to-level with his daughter. He ignored the stares of the remaining capos and guests. "Are you okay, sweetheart?"
Eira sniffled, rubbing her tear-stained cheek with the back of her free hand. The other hand still clutched the silver locket tightly against her cardigan.
"My cheek hurts, Daddy," Eira whispered, her blue eyes looking at him with absolute trust.
Galen’s jaw tightened at the sight of the red mark still blooming on her fair, rosy skin. He reached out with his large, tattooed hand and gently, incredibly softly, brushed his thumb just beneath the bruise.
"I know, little bird," Galen murmured, his deeply masculine voice filled with an aching sorrow. "I am so sorry I let that woman near you. I promise you, on my life, no one will ever hurt you like that again."
"Is she really gone?" Eira asked, looking nervously toward the heavy mahogany doors. "Is she going to come back and take Mommy's picture?"
"She is never coming back," Galen vowed, his American accent ringing with undeniable certainty. "And Mommy's things are never going to disappear. This is your house, Eira. You and Mommy will always belong here."
Eira offered a small, fragile smile, the tension finally leaving her tiny body. She threw her arms around Galen’s neck, burying her face in the expensive fabric of his tailored three-piece suit. Galen held her securely, closing his eyes as he absorbed the profound, innocent love of his child.
He stood up, lifting Eira effortlessly into his arms. He turned his cold, sharp eyes toward the crowd of waiting capos and family members.
"The engagement is over. The dinner is concluded," Galen announced, his voice carrying effortlessly across the vast space. "Everyone who is not a sworn member of this syndicate is dismissed. Leave immediately."
The civilian guests nodded frantically, murmuring their polite goodbyes and rushing toward the exits, desperate to escape the impending mafia fallout.
"Vincenzo," Galen commanded, looking at his most trusted underboss.
"Yes, Boss," the forty-year-old capo replied, stepping forward in his dark suit.
"Take my daughter up to the secure penthouse," Galen instructed, gently handing Eira over to the trusted man. "Have the staff bring her whatever she wants to eat. Lock the heavy steel doors and put a four-man detail outside her room. Do not leave her side."
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"I will guard her with my life, Galen," Vincenzo swore, carefully taking the little girl and carrying her toward the private elevators.
Once his daughter was safely out of the room, Galen’s demeanor shifted entirely. The tender, protective father vanished, replaced completely by the ruthless, terrifying warlord preparing for a siege.
