Chapter 13 - THE CABIN ON THE CLIFF
The truck engine ticked as it cooled in the morning air.
Adrien stepped out onto the damp pine needles.
The silence here was immense.
It was not the heavy, suffocating quiet of his mansion outside Boston.
It was the living silence of wind in the spruce trees and gulls calling above the surf.
Isabella carried her suitcase up the wooden porch steps.
Adrien unlocked the front door with an ordinary iron key.
The inside was warm, smelling of cedarwood and dried lavender.
A woodstove sat on a fieldstone hearth in the center of the open living room.
Bookshelves lined the pine walls from floor to ceiling.
Through the wide rear windows, the ocean stretched out to the edge of the world.
Isabella set her suitcase down beside an armchair covered in a faded wool quilt.
She walked to the window and pressed both hands against the cool glass.
"You lived here?" she asked.
"Before my father took over the docks," Adrien said, standing in the doorway.
"I was twelve."
"My mother brought me here in the summers."
"It was the only place she didn't lock the bedroom doors at night."
Isabella turned around.
The morning sun caught the side of her face, illuminating the faint bruise still lingering near her temple.
"He can't reach us here, can he?"
"Mercer was arrested three hours ago," Adrien said, checking his burner phone.
"He tried to board an unregistered cargo vessel at the South Boston terminals."
"State troopers were waiting at the gangway."
"Marco?"
Adrien looked out at the ocean.
"Marco fled to Canada at midnight."
"He won't come back."
"The council has already surrendered its corporate charters to the attorney general."
"By noon today, the Voss shipping empire won't exist."
Isabella walked across the room until she was standing inches from him.
She looked up at his eyes.
The coldness that had lived there for two years had begun to thaw.
"And what about you?" she asked softly.
"Who are you without the empire, Mr. Voss?"
Adrien raised his hand.
His fingers gently touched the collar of her canvas coverall.
He smoothed the fabric back, exposing the small burned seal on her collarbone.
049.
His fingers traced the edge of the scar.
She didn't flinch.
She didn't pull away.
"I'm a man who owes you two years of back pay," Adrien whispered.
"And an apology."
"I don't want your money," she said.
Her breath was warm against his neck.
"What do you want, Isabella?"
"I want breakfast," she said, a small, teasing smile touching her lips.
"And I want you to make the coffee."
For the first time in six years, Adrien Voss laughed.
A deep, quiet laugh that shook his chest.
"I don't know how to work the machine," he admitted.
"You always did it."
May you like
"Then you'd better learn," she said, turning toward the kitchen.
"Because I'm off the clock."
