Chapter 8 - The Siege of Portland
Forty-eight hours after Prudence’s departure for Europe, the Atlantic storm system returned with violent force, battering the northern coast of New England.
In the deep water port of Portland, Maine, three heavy crane towers swung wildly against a black, rain-swept sky.
Dante and Mara stood inside the glass-walled control office overlooking Terminal Four, surrounded by six armed Voss guards and two union representatives. Below them, floodlights illuminated fifty shipping containers carrying heavy industrial machinery bound for European markets.
“The federal clearance came through an hour ago,” Mara announced, setting down her satellite phone. “Prudence’s manifests were formally withdrawn after our legal team submitted the original, untampered bills of lading to the Maritime Commission.”
Dante stood behind her, his heavy black coat drenched from his walk along the docks. “And Wendell’s men in the union?”
“Eight of them resigned twenty minutes ago when they saw the federal marshals leave,” Cass Voss reported, stepping into the office with a clipboard. “The rest have fallen back into line under my team’s authority.”
Cass looked at Dante, offering a rare, genuine nod of approval.
“You handled the Boston situation clean, Dante,” Cass said. “No blood on the docks, no press coverage, and the Voss alliance is stronger than it’s been in ten years.”
Dante looked at Mara, who was leaning over a map of the northern shipping routes, her dark eyes focused, brilliant, and completely in command of the complex logistics network.
“It wasn't my handling,” Dante said quietly. “It was Mara’s strategy.”
Cass smiled faintly, tapping his clipboard against his leg. “She always was the smartest person in our family. Our father just never gave her a desk.”
Cass turned toward the door, leaving the couple alone in the glass office above the roaring harbor.
The heavy sound of rain beating against the reinforced glass filled the room.
Dante walked over to Mara, standing close behind her. He reached out, his large, warm hands gently resting on her shoulders. He felt her take a deep, quiet breath, but she didn't pull away.
“Are you tired?” Dante asked softly.
“A little,” Mara admitted, leaning back slightly against his chest. “I haven't slept more than four hours a night since the wedding.”
“Come back to the estate tonight,” Dante said, his chin resting near her ear. “The Portland docks are clear. The council is secure. There are no more fires to fight.”
Mara turned around within his embrace, resting her hands against the lapels of his wet wool coat. She looked up into his face—seeing the exhaustion around his eyes, but also the deep, fierce devotion that had replaced the cold arrogance of the man she had married three weeks ago.
“Dante,” she murmured.
“Yes?”
“Why did you really come after me at the lighthouse that night?”
Dante looked into her dark gray eyes, the truth rising up in him like a tide that could no longer be contained by pride or fear.
“Because when I saw that ring on the black marble table,” Dante whispered, his voice cracking with emotion, “I realized that for thirty-eight years, I had been living in a house full of ghosts. You were the first real thing that had ever happened to me, Mara. And I would rather lose every dock from Maine to Florida than live another night in that house without you.”
May you like
Mara looked at him for a long, quiet moment.
Then, she reached up, her slender fingers touching his jaw, pulling his head down until her lips met his in a slow, deep, and absolute kiss that sealed the final wall of their marriage.
