Chapter 7 - The Trial of Fire
For three weeks, Damian was absent from Blackwood.
His chair in the library remained empty. His black sedans no longer lined the perimeter of the courtyard.
The atmosphere at the academy became tense, expectant. Rumors circulated through the hallways like wildfire. Some said Anthony Moretti was dead; others claimed the family was locked in a bloody war for control of the New Jersey docks.
Without Damian's physical presence, small cracks began to appear in the peace Charlotte had built.
Madison Caldwell began lingering near the library again, accompanied by her group of wealthy friends, whispering loudly about "criminal empires falling apart" whenever Charlotte walked past.
On a freezing afternoon in early February, Charlotte was leaving the science building when she was intercepted by two men in dark grey suits standing beside a sleek black SUV parked in the faculty lot.
Neither man belonged to the Moretti security detail.
"Miss Whitmore?" the taller man asked, his voice raspy, his hand resting inside his coat pocket. "We need you to come with us. Mr. Moretti wants to see you."
Charlotte stopped ten feet away, her eyes narrowing as she observed their shoes. They wore pointed, cheap leather boots—not the custom, unbranded footwear of Damian's men.
"Which Mr. Moretti?" Charlotte asked calmly, her fingers closing around the metal pen inside her coat pocket.
"Damian," the man lied smoothly, taking a step toward her. "He's at the Manhattan office. He sent us to pick you up."
Charlotte took two steps backward into the light of the security camera mounted above the science building door.
"Damian doesn't send strangers to pick me up," Charlotte said, her voice clear and carrying across the quiet lot. "And he never calls himself 'Mr. Moretti' when speaking to my security team."
The tall man's face darkened. He took a sudden, lunging step forward, reaching for her wrist. "Don't make a scene, kid—"
Before his hand could touch her coat, a heavy black sedan swerved violently into the parking lot, its tires screeching across the icy asphalt, blocking the grey SUV entirely.
The doors flew open. Marco and three Moretti operators poured out, their weapons drawn and low, surrounding the two strangers within three seconds.
"Step away from the lady," Marco growled, his voice like grinding stone.
The tall man froze, raising his hands slowly, his face turning pale. "We were just delivering a message from the Valetti firm..."
"Deliver it from your knees," Marco commanded, stepping forward and forcing both men onto the slushy pavement, securing them with heavy ties.
Marco turned to Charlotte, bowing his head respectfully. "Miss Whitmore. Don Damian sent us to secure you. The situation in Manhattan has been resolved."
Charlotte let out a long breath she hadn't realized she was holding. Four counts in. Four counts out.
"How is his father?" she asked, her voice trembling slightly.
"Mr. Anthony survived the surgery," Marco smiled warmly. "He's recovering at the estate. And Don Damian has officially assumed full command of the syndicate."
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Marco opened the rear door of the armored sedan.
"He's waiting for you at the house, Miss Whitmore," Marco said softly. "It's time to come home."
