Chapter 17 - The Confrontation
|
The aftermath of the wedding was silent and swift.
The twenty heavily armed men in the reception tent had zip-tied the fake catering staff, tossing them into unmarked vans to be dealt with far away from the estate. Arthur Vance was dragged down to the basement holding cells, screaming threats that nobody listened to.
The wealthy guests, completely unaware of the massacre that had just been averted, were quietly ushered out by Matteo’s security team, told that a severe security threat had prompted an early end to the evening.
By midnight, the sprawling Blackwood estate was empty, save for the loyal guards cleaning the blood from the study floor.
Alessandro walked down the long, dimly lit stairs into the sub-basement. The air grew colder, smelling of old stone and aged wine. He reached the heavy, reinforced steel door of the old wine cellar.
He knocked three times, paused, and knocked twice.
The heavy deadbolt scraped back. The door slowly opened.
Fatima stood in the doorway, holding a heavy iron fireplace poker like a baseball bat. She looked terrified, exhausted, but fiercely protective. When she saw it was Alessandro, she dropped the iron rod with a loud clatter and let out a massive sigh of relief.
“Mr. Rienzi,” Fatima breathed out, tears springing to her eyes. “Is it over?”
“It is completely over, Fatima,” Alessandro said softly, stepping into the cellar. “The threat is gone. You are safe.”
Behind Fatima, curled up on a pile of thick blankets, was little Amara. She was fast asleep, her tiny hands clutching the gray stuffed lamb tightly against her chest.
Alessandro walked over and knelt beside the sleeping child. He looked at the little girl who had tugged on his sleeve and saved his empire, his life, and his soul.
He gently brushed a stray curl from her forehead.
“She is a very brave little girl,” Alessandro whispered.
Fatima wiped her eyes. “She doesn't understand what she did, sir. She just knows when bad people are nearby.”
“She understands more than most adults,” Alessandro noted, standing back up. He turned to the housekeeper. “Fatima. Tomorrow morning, you are no longer the head housekeeper of this estate.”
Fatima gasped, fresh panic seizing her features. “Please, Mr. Rienzi, I didn't mean to pry, I swear—”
May you like
“You are not fired,” Alessandro interrupted gently, raising a hand to calm her. “You are promoted. You are now the director of the Rienzi Foundation’s pediatric wing at the hospital. You will have a corner office, a six-figure salary, and a full scholarship fund set up for Amara’s education, from preschool all the way through medical school if she wants it.”
Fatima stared at him, completely speechless, her hands flying to cover her mouth.
