Chapter 11 - The Return To The Estate
By 3:00 a.m., the black Mercedes rolled back through the iron gates of the Connecticut mansion under a calm, starlit sky.
Victor walked into the grand foyer, removing his light gray overcoat and hanging it neatly on the mahogany coat rack by the American flag.
He walked up the sweeping wooden staircase, quietly opening the door to the master suite where I was waiting with a cup of warm tea.
“Did you handle it?” I asked softly, handing him the porcelain cup as he sat down on the edge of the velvet armchair.
“Sterling is in a federal holding cell in Brooklyn,” Victor replied, taking a slow sip of the tea with a tired, satisfied sigh.
“The Boston files are destroyed, and our family secret remains buried where it belongs.”
“And the European shipping routes?” I pressed further, knowing my husband’s relentless drive for absolute control and safety.
“They’re ours now,” Victor smiled faintly, reaching out to take my hand in his warm, strong grip.
May you like
“Nobody will ever threaten our home or our son again, Ava. I promise you that.”
We stood together by the large bay window, looking out over the quiet, peaceful grounds of the estate that had survived the ultimate storm.
