Chapter 9 - The Corrupt Siege Crumbles
Lorenzo released his grip.
Senator Sterling dropped to the marble floor, coughing and gasping for air, his
polished veneer shattered into pathetic whimpers.
The lead federal marshal unclipped his handcuffs and stepped over to Sterling.
"Senator Marcus Sterling," the marshal announced firmly, "you are under arrest
for federal racketeering, conspiracy to commit murder, public corruption, and
treason."
"You can't do this!" Sterling screamed as the cold steel ratcheted around his
wrists. "Do you know who I am?! I have friends in the Department of Justice! I
appointed the governor's chief of staff!"
"Tell it to the grand jury, Senator," the marshal said, dragging the disgraced
politician toward the cruisers outside.
Two more marshals escorted Vincent and Isabella down the grand staircase.
Vincent kept his head bowed, his bandaged arm clutched against his ribs, broken
and silent.
Isabella, however, caught sight of Beatrice standing beside Lorenzo.
"You ruined my life, you fat pig!" Isabella shrieked, struggling against the
marshals' grip, her manicured nails clawing at the air. "You were supposed to
scrub my floors! You were supposed to be nothing!"
Beatrice looked down at her from the top of the marble steps.
For two years, Beatrice had looked at the floor whenever Isabella entered a
room. She had swallowed insults, endured mockery, and felt ashamed of her own
existence.
Now, Beatrice stood tall, her shoulders back, looking Isabella dead in the eyes.
"I may have scrubbed your floors, Isabella," Beatrice said calmly. "But tonight,
I took out the trash."
Isabella gasped, utterly humiliated, before the marshals dragged her out into
the pouring rain and shoved her into the back of a police transport.
The front doors closed.
The mansion fell quiet.
The storm outside was finally beginning to pass, the thunder rolling away toward
the Atlantic Ocean as the first faint hues of violet and pink appeared on the
eastern horizon.
Lorenzo turned to Marco.
"Clean the grounds," Lorenzo ordered. "Secure the perimeter. Have the catering
staff prepare a hot breakfast for everyone on duty."
"Yes, boss," Marco nodded respectfully before heading outside.
Lorenzo turned back to Beatrice.
She was standing near the grand staircase, suddenly looking small again as the
realization of everything that had happened washed over her. She looked down at
her torn, bleach-stained uniform and her bandaged hand.
"I suppose... I should start cleaning the library," Beatrice whispered,
self-consciously tucking a loose curl behind her ear. "There's glass
everywhere."
Lorenzo walked over to her, his long strides closing the distance between them.
He reached out, took her uninjured hand, and gently stopped her from moving.
"Beatrice," Lorenzo said softly.
She looked up into his intense, golden-amber eyes.
"You will never clean another room in this house again," Lorenzo said.
May you like
"Mr. Falcone—"
"Lorenzo," he corrected, his voice full of warmth. "Come with me."
