Chapter 3 - The Purple Crayon Verdict
The restaurant felt like it was tilting on its axis,
the rain outside becoming a roar that matched the pounding in my ears.
Julian Vane stepped forward,
his presence filling the gap between me and the family I had discarded.
"You’ve seen enough for one night,
Valenti,"
Julian said,
his voice a low,
dangerous hum that vibrated through the floorboards.
"Elena didn't come here for a reconciliation."
"She came here to make sure you knew that your legacy is safe with her,"
"and that it will never belong to you."
I ignored him,
my focus entirely on Elena,
on the woman who had survived the death of her world.
"I didn't know,"
I whispered,
stepping closer despite the warning growl from Marco behind me.
"I swear on my father's grave,"
"I didn't know the reports were fake."
Elena stood up,
her cashmere dress swaying like a white flag of war.
"It doesn't matter if you knew,
Dominic."
"It matters that you didn't believe in me."
"It matters that you chose a name over the woman who shared your bed."
She picked up Isabella,
holding her against her hip with a strength that made her look like a goddess of vengeance.
"The Valenti eyes are a curse,"
"not a gift."
"She will grow up knowing she has her father’s eyes,"
"but she will also know he wasn't brave enough to protect her mother."
Isabella looked at me,
her little brow furrowed in curiosity.
"Why is he sad,
Mommy?"
she asked,
her voice a tiny silver bell that shattered my heart into a million pieces.
Elena didn't answer her.
She simply turned toward the door,
leaving the purple crayon on the table as a reminder of everything I had missed.
"Elena,
wait!"
I called out,
my voice echoing off the marble walls.
"Your mother is already looking for you,
Elena!"
"If she finds out Isabella exists,"
"she won't stop until she has her."
Elena stopped at the glass doors,
the rain lashing against the other side.
"Let her try,"
she said,
not looking back.
"She’s fighting an old man's empire."
"I’m fighting for my daughter."
"And I have Julian Vane's army behind me."
They stepped out into the night,
the black umbrellas of Vane's security team blooming like dark flowers to shield them from the storm.
I stood in the center of the empty restaurant,
the 40-year-old Barolo tasting like ash in my mouth.
Marco stepped up beside me,
his face grim.
"What do we do,
Dominic?"
"The Judge is still waiting in the back."
I looked at the purple crayon,
then at the empty chair where my daughter had sat.
"Cancel the meeting,"
I said,
my voice turning into ice.
May you like
"And find my mother."
"I have a signature of my own to take care of."
