Chapter 5 - Dawn over the Estate
By five o'clock in the morning, the heavy gray clouds over Lake Michigan began to break, letting the first pale rays of sunrise filter through the tall windows of the Romano mansion.
The shattered glass had been swept from the grand hall. The bodies of the traitors had been removed, and the estate’s primary power grid was back online, bathing the warm wood panels and velvet furniture in soft, inviting light.
I sat in the large velvet armchair in the private study adjoining the staff quarters.
Dr. Mercer stepped out of Room 104, wiping his hands with a clean towel. He looked tired, but his expression was calm.
"How is she?" I asked, standing up.
"The pneumonia was severe, Mr. Romano," Dr. Mercer said, nodding respectfully. "If she had gone another six hours without intravenous antibiotics, her lungs would have failed. But we caught it just in time. Her fever has dropped to a safe level. She's resting comfortably now."
I let out a long, quiet breath that I felt like I had been holding since midnight. "Thank you, Doctor. Make sure she has round-the-clock nursing care for the next two weeks."
"Of course, sir."
I walked down the narrow service corridor toward the shoe-shine room.
The heavy steel door was slightly ajar. Inside, Nikolai was sitting awkwardly on a small wooden crate, holding a tray with a bowl of warm chicken soup and a glass of milk.
On the floor beside him, wrapped in a thick wool blanket, sat Zoe.
She had washed her hands and face at the sink, though a tiny smudge of black boot polish still lingered behind her left ear. Her battered teddy bear was propped up against her knees, drinking from an imaginary cup of tea.
When she saw me step into the doorway, her eyes lit up, but she instantly scrambled to her feet, clutching her bear to her chest.
"Mr. Romano," she whispered softly.
I gestured for Nikolai to leave us. He nodded, placed the tray on the workbench, and stepped out into the hall, pulling the door almost shut behind him.
I walked into the room and dropped down onto one knee in front of her, ignoring the dust on the concrete floor.
"Your mother is awake, Zoe," I said gently. "The doctor gave her some medicine. She's going to be completely fine."
Zoe’s tiny shoulders dropped, a massive wave of relief sweeping across her small face. Tears welled up in her dark eyes, but this time, they weren't tears of fear.
"Really?" she squeaked.
"Really," I smiled—a genuine, warm smile that felt strange on my face after so many years of war. "She's sleeping right now, but you can go see her in a little while."
She looked down at the ruined Oxford shoe sitting on the stool beside her. The leather was scuffed, covered in uneven patches of thick black cream, completely ruined for formal wear.
"I... I ruined your shoe, sir," she murmured, looking down at her socks. "Mama said those shoes cost more than our house."
I reached out, picked up the ruined shoe, and examined it with absolute seriousness.
"Zoe," I said, looking her straight in the eye. "This is the best shoe polish job I have ever seen."
She blinked, her long dark eyelashes wet with tears. "It is?"
"It is," I nodded. "In fact, I'm going to keep this shoe right here on my desk in the main office. To remind me that the most dangerous man in Chicago was saved by a six-year-old girl with a red crayon."
A small, beautiful giggle escaped her lips—a sound that filled the cold concrete room with light.
"I have lots of red crayons," she said proudly, reaching into her pajama pocket and pulling out a stubby, broken piece of red wax.
"Good," I said, holding out my hand. "Because starting today, you have a new job in this house."
"A job?" she asked, her eyes wide.
"You are the Head of Security," I said gravely. "Your job is to draw pictures of anyone who looks suspicious around my gates. And in return, your mother never has to shine another shoe in her life."
May you like
Zoe looked at her tiny broken crayon, then looked up at me, her face shining with pure, innocent joy. She stepped forward, wrapped her small arms around my neck, and pressed her soft cheek against mine.
"Okay, Mr. Romano," she whispered. "I'll protect you."
