Chapter 17 - The First Step
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The tension inside the estate was unbearable. For three hours, Sebastian directed his men, sending strike teams out into the city to dismantle Romano’s operations block by block.
Clare stayed in the medical suite with Oliver, who was blissfully watching cartoons, completely unaware that a mafia war was raging outside their walls.
At midnight, Sebastian rolled into the medical suite. He looked exhausted, covered in the ash of cigars and the heavy scent of gunpowder. He looked at Oliver sleeping soundly on the couch, then looked at Clare.
“It’s almost over,” he said quietly. “My men have Romano cornered at the docks. I have to go.”
“You’re going out there?” Clare stood up, her heart leaping into her throat. “Sebastian, no. You’re in a wheelchair. You can’t go to a gunfight!”
Sebastian looked at her. A strange, serene calm washed over his face. “Watch this,” he commanded softly.
He locked the brakes on his wheelchair. He placed his hands on the armrests. His knuckles turned white. He closed his eyes, his jaw tight.
Slowly, agonizingly, Sebastian pushed himself upward. His legs trembled violently. His right foot planted on the floor. Then his left.
Clare covered her mouth, a gasp escaping her lips.
Sebastian released the armrests. He stood there, entirely unassisted, swaying slightly, but standing tall. He looked down at her from his full height of six-foot-two.
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“You gave me my life back, Clare,” he whispered, taking one, heavy, dragging step forward. He reached out, cupping her face. “I will not let them take it from me again.”
He kissed her hard, a promise of violence and victory. Then he fell back into the chair, exhausted but victorious, and rolled out the door.
