Chapter 4 - The Debt of Blood
THREE DAYS LATER
The heavy rain of late October pounded against the tall stained-glass windows of the grand dining hall at the Duca estate.
The long mahogany table, usually reserved for syndicate summit meetings and tense territorial divisions, was set with white linen, silver cutlery, and steaming platters of roasted chicken, fresh vegetables, and warm buttered bread.
Sitting at the far end of the table was Thomas Vance.
The head of the Providence syndicate was a broad, iron-jawed man in his sixties, his hair snow-white, his eyes dark and heavy with years of violence. Beside him sat his daughter, Elena.
She looked entirely different from the broken ghost I had pulled from the dark stone cell three nights ago. Her hair was clean, dressed in a warm cashmere sweater, her cheeks slowly regaining their natural color under the care of the private medical team I had brought to the house.
Standing in the corner of the room, hovering nervously near the kitchen doors, was Grace Harper.
The housekeeper looked pale, her hands clutched tightly in front of her apron. She had spent the last forty-eight hours in state-of-the-art private hospital care, her pneumonia completely cleared by top specialists I had personally hired. But the terror of the past week still lingered in her posture.
Beside her stood Mia, holding her little sister’s hand as the baby toddled around her knees.
Thomas Vance set his wine glass down with a heavy clink. He looked across the table at me.
"Silvio is handled?" Thomas asked, his baritone voice rough as gravel.
"Silvio and the four men who helped him are currently on a cargo vessel bound for international waters," I replied calmly, taking a sip of black coffee. "They will spend the rest of their lives in a private labor facility in South America. They will never see Boston again."
Thomas nodded once, a dark, satisfying grunt escaping his chest. He turned his head slowly to look at his daughter, his rough hand reaching out to cover hers on the tablecloth.
"You saved my daughter's life, Roman," Thomas said, his eyes softening with a rare, raw emotion. "I brought three hundred armed men to the Massachusetts border three nights ago ready to burn your estate to the ground. If you hadn't called me... if you hadn't brought her to the phone..."
"It wasn't me who saved her," I said smoothly, gesturing with my hand toward the kitchen door. "It was the little girl standing behind you."
Thomas Vance turned his head, his heavy gaze landing on Mia.
The six-year-old froze, pulling her sister slightly behind her leg, intimidated by the giant, white-haired man staring at her.
"Come here, child," Thomas said softly.
Mia looked at her mother. Grace gave her a gentle, reassuring nod.
Mia walked slowly over to the head of the table, her small shoes clicking softly on the polished hardwood floor. She stopped beside Thomas Vance's chair, looking up at him without fear.
Thomas reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a heavy, antique gold pocket watch adorned with the Vance family crest—an heirloom that had belonged to his grandfather, worth more than most people earned in five years. He placed it gently into Mia's small, pink palm.
"This watch represents a life debt," Thomas said, his voice thick with uncharacteristic tenderness. "The Vance family owes you everything, little one. If you ever need anything—protection, a home, a university education—you bring this watch to Providence, and my family will move mountains for you."
Mia looked at the shiny gold watch, then up at Thomas. "Can I trade it for a warm coat for Mama?"
A choked laugh escaped Thomas Vance’s chest, while Elena let out a soft, beautiful tearful smile.
"You can have a thousand coats, sweetheart," Elena said, leaning over to kiss Mia’s cheek. "You saved my life."
I stood up from my chair, walking over to stand behind Mia. I placed a hand gently on her shoulder, feeling the small, sturdy frame of the child who had completely rewritten the history of two warring syndicates.
"She won't need to ask Providence for coats," I said, looking across the room at Grace Harper. "Grace... step forward, please."
The housekeeper stepped nervously into the dining room, her hands trembling. "Yes, Mr. Duca?"
"Effective immediately," I announced, my voice carrying clearly across the grand room, "you are no longer part of the housecleaning staff."
Grace’s face went pale. "Mr. Duca... please, I can work! I'm completely healthy now, I can—"
"You didn't let me finish," I interrupted gently. "You are being promoted to the Estate Administrator. You will oversee all household operations, manage the staff budget, and live in the newly renovated East Wing apartments with your daughters. Your salary will be tripled, and a trust fund has been established today in Mia and Lily’s names that will cover their education through graduate school."
May you like
Grace gasped, her hand flying to her mouth as tears welled up in her eyes. "Mr. Duca... I... I don't know what to say... we don't deserve this..."
"You raised a daughter who has more courage than half the men in this city," I said, looking down at Mia, who was beaming up at me with a wide, toothy grin. "She saved this family from destroying itself. It is a debt I will spend the rest of my life repaying."
