Chapter 8 - The War of Detroit
The main study of the Voss estate looked like a military command center.
Red emergency lights flashed along the mahogany walls. Heavy steel blast shutters had rolled down over every window, sealing the house into an impenetrable bunker.
Belle was fast asleep in my bedroom upstairs, exhausted from crying, guarded by two private nurses and three armed men.
Downstairs in the study, I sat on the leather sofa, a thick wool blanket wrapped around my shoulders, holding a mug of warm tea with shaking hands.
Harlan stood at the center of the room, flanked by twelve senior captains of the Detroit syndicate.
Lying tied to a wooden chair in the center of the rug was Julian Voss.
Julian’s nose was broken, his expensive blue suit torn and covered in mud. Viktor—his right shoulder heavily bandaged—stood behind the chair, holding a heavy suppressed pistol against Julian’s temple.
“I didn't know about the sniper! I swear to God, Harlan!” Julian sobbed hysterically, blood dripping from his lip onto his silk tie. “Carmine Moretti did this on his own! He said he just wanted to pressure you into signing over the docks!”
Harlan stood two feet away, his arms folded across his chest, his expression dark, terrifying, and utterly devoid of mercy.
“You gave Carmine the thermal satellite coordinates for my private garden,” Harlan said, his voice dropping into a register so low it vibrated through the floorboards. “You put my daughter and Rue in the sights of a fifty-caliber rifle.”
“I’m your brother!” Julian wailed, shaking frantically in his restraints. “Our father—!”
“Our father died because he was weak like you,” Harlan interrupted smoothly.
He pulled a black 9mm pistol from his waist holster, racking the slide with a heavy metallic click that made Julian scream in terror.
Harlan didn't look at Julian. He turned his icy gray eyes toward me, sitting quietly on the sofa.
“Rue,” Harlan said softly. “Step out of the room.”
I looked at Julian weeping in his chair, then looked at Harlan.
I stood up, dropping the wool blanket. I walked over to Harlan, stopping inches from his broad chest. I reached up, gently placing my small hand over his grip on the gun, easing the barrel down.
“Don't do this in front of your captains, Harlan,” I said softly, my voice steady and clear. “Don't let a rat make you a monster in your own house.”
The twelve captains in the room gasped softly, holding their breath. Nobody spoke to Harlan Voss like that. Nobody touched his weapon.
Harlan stared down into my eyes. The apocalyptic rage in his gray eyes flickered, slowing down, tamed by the quiet, unyielding courage in my gaze.
Slowly, Harlan lowered the gun.
“Viktor,” Harlan commanded, never taking his eyes off mine.
“Don Harlan?”
“Take my half-brother to the South Side processing facility,” Harlan ordered. “Hand him over to the federal authorities with every ledger of his offshore accounts. Let him spend the next forty years in a federal cage thinking about what he did to my family.”
Julian let out a ragged, sobbing gasp of relief as Viktor dragged him out of the room.
Harlan turned back to his captains. “Mobilize every soldier in the city. By midnight, I want Carmine Moretti’s shipping lines seized, his warehouses burned, and his enforcers expelled from Michigan permanently.”
“Understood, Boss!” the captains roared in unison, turning and flooding out of the room to execute his orders.
The heavy double doors clicked shut, leaving only Harlan and me in the silent, steel-reinforced room.
Harlan walked over to me, stepping into my personal space. He reached up, his large, warm thumb gently wiping a smudge of soot from my cheek.
“You stopped my hand, Rue,” Harlan whispered, his voice deep and rough with raw emotion. “Nobody has ever stopped my hand.”
“I promised you I wouldn't let guns ruin Belle’s life,” I murmured, looking up into his pale gray eyes. “And I promised myself I wouldn't let you lose your soul.”
Harlan let out a long, heavy breath, leaning his forehead softly against mine.
His large arms wrapped securely around my waist, pulling my body flush against his chest, holding me as if I were the only anchor keeping him anchored to the earth.
May you like
“You’re not just Belle’s nanny anymore, Rue Callaway,” Harlan whispered against my lips, his breath warm and electric. “You’re the queen of this house. And I am never letting you go.”
I closed my eyes, wrapping my arms around his neck, sinking into his warmth as the storm outside raged against the steel walls, completely safe in the arms of Detroit’s most feared man.
