Chapter 8 - Unspoken Bonds
Inside, the cabin was cold and smelled of cedar wood and dried lavender. Julian immediately knelt by the stone fireplace, stacking dry logs and lighting a warm, crackling fire that quickly filled the room with golden light.
Elena sat on the leather sofa, wrapping herself in a wool blanket Julian provided. Now that the immediate danger had passed, the shock was setting in. Her hands shook uncontrollably.
Julian noticed. He went to the kitchen, poured a shot of straight bourbon into a glass, and brought it to her, along with a warm mug of milk he had heated over a small gas stove.
"Drink the milk. It will help," he said gently, taking the seat across from her. He had stripped off his suit jacket, wearing only his white shirt, which was stained with soot and blood.
"Thank you," Elena murmured, taking the mug. She looked at him through her lashes. "Who was that man? Marcus?"
"He was my father’s right hand. I raised him like a brother," Julian said, his voice bitter as glass. "I gave him power, wealth, respect. But ambition is a sickness. He wanted the Rossi syndicate for himself, and he knew he couldn't take it as long as I had a healthy heir."
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"He was willing to let a baby suffer..." Elena whispered, horrified.
"In my world, softness is fatal," Julian said, looking into the fire. Then, he turned his gaze back to her. "Which is why what you did tonight was the bravest thing I’ve ever seen. You knew who I was. You knew the danger. Yet you spoke up."
