Chapter 10 - The Dawn on the Lake
The clock in the main hall chimed midnight.
In the private family dining room overlooking the snow-covered terrace, the great stone fireplace was blazing with fresh oak logs, sending a brilliant, crackling warmth through the room.
The small balsam fir from the kitchen—the one sitting in the coffee can—had been placed squarely in the center of the massive, twelve-seat mahogany banquet table.
Surrounded by silver platters of warm roasted ham, fresh buttered rolls, sliced panettone, and two crystal bowls of whipped cream with brandied cherries, sat Maisie.
She was still wearing her handmade red Christmas dress, though the gold ribbon from her gift was now tied neatly into her curls like a makeshift tiara. She was happily swinging her woolen-socked feet against the mahogany chair legs, dipping a butter cookie into a mug of warm milk dusted with cinnamon.
Across from her sat Nora, wearing a clean, soft woolen cardigan that Damian’s staff had brought up from the guest suites, her face radiant with a peaceful, tear-stained glow that looked like a resurrection.
And sitting at the head of the table, his chair pulled close to the little girl’s side, was Damian Marchetti.
He had removed his black linen shirt, replacing it with a thick, dark gray cashmere sweater. The silver locket hung against his chest, resting over his heart, catching the golden reflection of the candles on the table.
In front of Damian sat a clean porcelain plate, loaded with two slices of ham, a warm roll, and a large slice of cherry pie with the lattice crust.
His glass of scotch remained upstairs in the dark study, forgotten and abandoned.
"Mr. Damian?" Maisie asked around a mouthful of cookie.
Damian looked down at her, his rugged, stubbled face softening into an expression that no capo, no judge, and no enemy had ever seen on his features.
"Yes, Maisie?"
"Did you open the box?"
Damian reached up with his large, ink-stained hand, his fingers gently tapping the silver rose resting against his sweater.
"I did," Damian said softly, his deep baritone smoother than silk.
"Was it pretty?"
"It was the most beautiful thing I have ever seen in my life," Damian answered, his gray eyes shining with an ancient, sacred light.
Maisie smiled her wide, gap-toothed smile, reached across the white linen tablecloth with her small, buttery fingers, and patted his scarred knuckles with two firm, reassuring taps.
"See?" Maisie said proudly. "I told you red was the bravest color."
Damian looked at her small hand resting over his scars. He looked at Nora, whose eyes were filled with an eternal, unbreakable gratitude. He looked out through the tall terrace windows, where the snow was finally beginning to stop falling over the frozen expanse of the lake, leaving the world blanketed in pure, untouched white beneath the Christmas stars.
The stones had fallen from his pockets.
May you like
The fortress was no longer an empty tomb.
Damian Marchetti turned his hand over, gently curling his large fingers around the little girl's small palm, and for the first time in eight years, the feared king of the northern syndicate leaned back in his chair and smiled into the light.
