Chapter 1 - THE ARRIVAL OF THE STORM
Giovanni Moretti stood in the center of the emergency room,
like a god of war carved from shadow and ice.
The air in the room seemed to drop ten degrees,
as his presence consumed the light of the fluorescent lamps.
He looked at Marla Hensley,
who was currently trying to find a way to disappear into the linoleum floor.
Her face,
once filled with arrogance and petty judgment,
was now a mask of pure,
undiluted terror.
“Who delayed my son’s treatment?”
Giovanni asked again,
his voice a low,
vibrating rumble that vibrated in my very bones.
Marla’s mouth opened,
but only a small,
strangled squeak escaped her throat.
One of Giovanni’s men,
a man with a jagged scar across his knuckles,
stepped forward.
He didn't touch her,
but his proximity was enough to make her knees buckle.
“She was asking for paperwork,
sir,”
the man said,
his eyes fixed on his boss.
“She suggested that social services should be involved,
because the father was absent.”
Giovanni’s dark eyes flickered toward me for a microsecond,
a flash of pain and rage so fast I almost missed it.
Then,
they locked back onto Marla.
“My son is a Moretti,”
he whispered,
the name hanging in the air like a death sentence.
“He does not wait for paperwork.”
“He does not wait for the permission of a woman who breathes only because I allow it.”
Dr. Sullivan stepped between them,
his hands raised in a gesture of peace.
“Mr. Moretti,
I am the one treating Luca.”
“The child is being stabilized as we speak.”
Giovanni turned his head,
a slow,
predatory movement.
“Is he safe?”
“We are doing everything we can,”
the doctor replied,
his voice remarkably steady.
“But we need that medical history I discussed with your wife.”
“Ex-wife,”
I corrected,
my voice trembling.
Giovanni ignored me.
“Give the doctor whatever he needs,”
Giovanni commanded his men.
“And find the best specialist in the country.”
“I want them here within the hour.”
“The roof is clear for more landings.”
Marla tried to edge away toward the nursing station.
Giovanni didn't even look at her as he spoke.
“Marco.”
The man with the scarred knuckles moved.
He blocked Marla’s path with the efficiency of a stone wall.
“You aren't going anywhere,”
Marco said.
Giovanni finally walked toward me,
the heavy thud of his boots echoing the beating of my heart.
He stopped inches away,
smelling of rain,
expensive tobacco,
and the dangerous power I had tried so hard to outrun.
“Fifteen months,
Lauren,”
he said,
his voice for my ears only.
“You let me believe I had nothing left.”
“I was trying to keep him safe,
Giovanni,”
I whispered,
tears finally spilling over.
“Safe?”
He laughed,
a dry,
bitter sound.
“He is a King’s son,
and he was being treated like a pauper in a public waiting room.”
“Look at me.”
I raised my eyes to his.
“The secret is over.”
May you like
“From this moment on,
the world knows exactly who he belongs to.”
