Chapter 4 - The House in Bridgeport
Back in the small, drafty kitchen in Bridgeport, the green kitchen clock clicked past 12:30 a.m.
Eleanor Calehan stood by the window, her thin arms wrapped tightly around her housecoat. She coughed into a handkerchief, pulling it away to find a dark spot of crimson that she quickly folded out of sight.
“Where are you, little bird?” she murmured, her voice trembling.
Annie was never late. She was sensible, cautious, and terrified of disappointing her grandmother. The thought of her granddaughter wandering the city streets at midnight sent a wave of dizziness through Eleanor’s head. She reached for the landline phone on the wall to call the local station, but before she could lift the receiver, headlights swept across the front window.
A sleek, unmarked black sedan pulled up directly to the curb, idling with a quiet, expensive purr.
Eleanor’s heart skipped a beat. She gripped the edge of the counter.
The rear door opened, and a towering figure in a dark trench coat stepped out into the rain, holding an umbrella. Behind him, a second car door opened, and a small, familiar voice rang out through the open door.
“Grandma! I’m sorry I missed the train! But I had to help him!”
Eleanor threw open the front door. There stood Annie, wrapped in her oversized blue coat, holding her canvas bag—and standing right beside her, leaning heavily on a silver-tipped cane, was Daniel Moretti.
Color had returned slightly to his cheeks, though his eyes were sharp, piercing, and entirely unaccustomed to defeat.
“Mrs. Calehan?” Daniel said, his voice a rich, resonant baritone that commanded the entire room.
Eleanor stared at the billionaire whose face appeared on the financial pages of every major newspaper in the country. Then she looked down at her granddaughter, whose coat was soaked through with station grime.
“Mr. Moretti,” Eleanor whispered, her knees weakening. She stepped back, holding the door open. “What… what is happening here?”
Daniel stepped inside, declining the cane’s support as he looked around the modest, immaculate kitchen. His gaze landed on the small paper pharmacy sack sitting on the table.
“Your granddaughter saved my life tonight, Mrs. Calehan,” Daniel said quietly, taking off his wet coat and placing it over a chair. “While half a dozen men in suits stepped over my dying body, this little girl knelt in the dirt and called for help.”
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He turned his dark, intense gaze toward Annie, then back to Eleanor.
“And now,” Daniel added, his jaw tightening as a cold, dangerous light entered his eyes, “it is my turn to protect you both. Because the men who tried to kill me tonight are the exact same men who have been quietly destroying this neighborhood—and your family—for years.”
