Chapter 3 - The Secret of Bridgeport
The giant man froze, his eyes snapping down to the seven-year-old girl in the bloodstained coat.
Marcus stood up abruptly, brushing off his shoulder with a sneer of disgust.
“Watch yourself, Silas,” Marcus spat. “You are just a bodyguard. I am the family now.”
Silas ignored him completely, kneeling in front of Annie.
“How do you know my name, little one?” Silas asked, his voice a deep, gravelly rumble.
Annie reached into her pocket with a trembling hand.
She pulled out the heavy silver coin with the roaring lion and held it out.
The entire waiting room seemed to stop breathing.
Marcus took a step back, all the color draining from his arrogant face.
Sylvia let out a quiet, horrified gasp.
That coin was the ultimate symbol of Daniel Moretti’s power.
Giving it to someone was a declaration that the bearer was under the absolute, unquestionable protection of the Moretti empire.
Silas gently closed Annie’s fingers around the coin, pushing it back toward her.
“Keep it safe, little bird,” Silas said, his eyes filled with fierce loyalty.
“Where do you live? I am taking you home.”
Marcus stepped forward, his fists clenched in desperation.
“You can’t take her, Silas! She is a witness! She needs to be questioned!”
Silas stood up, turning to face Marcus with a look that promised absolute violence.
“She carries the King's seal,” Silas growled. “If you or your men come within ten blocks of this child, I will kill you myself.”
Silas gently took Annie’s hand and led her out of the hospital, leaving Marcus and Sylvia seething in the lobby.
They drove through the rainy streets in a bulletproof black SUV.
Annie gave Silas the address in Bridgeport, her heart aching as she remembered her grandmother’s medicine.
When they arrived at the crumbling apartment building, Annie rushed up the stairs, Silas following closely behind.
She pushed the door open.
“Grandma! I’m sorry I’m late!” Annie cried out, holding up the brown pharmacy bag.
Eleanor Calehan sat in her green armchair, coughing violently into a blood-spotted handkerchief.
She looked up, relief flooding her pale, tired face.
“Oh, my sweet little bird,” Eleanor wept, pulling Annie into a tight embrace. “I thought I had lost you.”
Then, Eleanor looked up and saw the giant man standing in the doorway.
The cough died in her throat.
Her eyes widened in pure, unadulterated terror.
“Silas?” Eleanor whispered, her voice trembling like a leaf in the wind.
Silas stared at the frail, sick woman, his jaw dropping in absolute shock.
“Margaret?” Silas breathed, stepping into the small, shabby apartment.
“We thought you died in the fire six years ago.”
Annie looked back and forth between them, completely confused.
“Her name is Eleanor,” Annie said defensively, stepping between them.
Silas slowly sank to his knees, staring at Annie’s face with a new, devastating realization.
He looked at her dark, deep eyes. He looked at the shape of her jaw.
“My God,” Silas whispered, tears filling his battle-hardened eyes.
“She isn't just a stranger, Margaret.”
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“She is Jonathan’s daughter.”
“She is Daniel’s biological granddaughter.”
