Chapter 3 - Debts Paid in Blood

The heavy iron front doors of the estate groaned shut behind Tyler Vance. He strutted into the limestone foyer with the unearned confidence of a petty street predator who mistook silence for weakness. He was tall, dressed in a faded leather jacket and scuffed designer boots, smelling faintly of cheap cologne and stale bourbon.

"Hannah!" he shouted, his voice echoing off the vaulted ceilings and crystal chandeliers. "Get down here right now! You think you can ghost me and hide out in some rich bastard’s palace? I know you're in here!"

I leaned against the mahogany railing of the sweeping staircase, looking down at him. Beside me, Marco stood stone-still, hands clasped in front of his tailored suit.

"You're making a great deal of noise in a house with a sleeping infant, Mr. Vance," I said smoothly, descending the stairs one step at a time.

Tyler spun around, his sneer faltering for a fraction of a second when his eyes met mine. He tried to puff out his chest, pointing an aggressive finger up at me. "Who the hell are you? The owner? Listen, buddy, your maid is my girl. She ran off with my spare keys and five hundred bucks of my cash. Tell her to drag her ass down here, or I call the cops and tell them you’re holding her against her will."

I reached the bottom step and stopped, standing a head taller than him. I didn't raise my voice. I didn't draw a weapon. I merely looked at him the way an exterminator looks at a cockroach.

"Hannah is no longer a maid," I murmured, taking a slow step forward. "She is in my employ as the private wet nurse to my son. And according to her medical files, you are the coward who pushed a heavily pregnant woman down a flight of concrete stairs."

Tyler's face darkened, his jaw clenching. "Whatever she told you is a damn lie! She tripped because she was clumsy! That baby was nothing to me anyway. Now hand her over, or—"

My fist moved before he could finish the syllable.

The crack of his nose breaking echoed across the marble foyer like a gunshot. Tyler stumbled backward, blood spraying from his face as he let out a choked shriek of agony. Before he could hit the floor, I caught him by the lapels of his leather jacket, hauled him upright, and slammed him against the solid oak wall beside the double doors.

"You took her child," I whispered into his ear, my grip tightening until his feet dangled inches off the ground. "Do you have any idea what it feels like to bury a family, Tyler?"

He sputtered, choking on his own blood, terror finally replacing his cheap bravado. "P-please... I'll leave! I'll never come back!"

"You're right. You won't," I said coldly.

I dropped him to the floor. He landed in a heap, groaning and clutching his face. I turned to Marco, who already had two armed guards stepping out from the corridor.

"Take Mr. Vance to the docks," I instructed without looking back. "Break the fingers on both of his hands so he can never lay them on a woman again. Then put him on a freight ship headed for South America. If he ever sets foot in the state of New York, bury him in the marsh."

"Understood, Boss," Marco said cleanly.

The guards dragged Tyler out by his boots, his desperate pleas muffled as the heavy oak doors slammed shut once more.

I walked up the grand staircase, brushing a speck of dust from my cuff. At the landing, Hannah stood pressed against the wall, clutching a blanket to her chest, her wide hazel eyes wet with fresh tears.

"He won't hurt you again, Hannah," I said, walking past her toward the study. "No one in this house will ever let harm touch you."

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She swallowed hard, her voice trembling with raw disbelief. "You... you didn't even ask me if I owed him anything."

"I don't care what you owed him," I answered, turning to look at her. "The only debt that matters under this roof is the one I owe you for keeping my son alive."