Chapter 5 - In the Master Suite
Rafferty pushed open the heavy mahogany double doors of his private quarters with his shoulder.
The master suite was a fortress within the mansion, lined with dark walnut paneling, loaded bookshelves, and heavy velvet drapes that shut out the river wind.
In the massive brick hearth, thick hickory logs still held a bed of red, glowing embers.
Rafferty carried Fay across the oriental rug and lowered her into a deep leather armchair beside the fireplace.
The sudden proximity to the radiating heat sent a shockwave of pins and needles through Fay’s frozen flesh.
She gasped, her teeth knocking together uncontrollably.
Rafferty moved with swift, quiet efficiency.
He took up an iron poker, broke the embers apart, and laid three fresh logs of seasoned oak across the iron grate.
Within thirty seconds, golden flames roared to life, casting an amber wash of heat across the chair.
He disappeared into the adjoining bath and returned with two heavy wool blankets.
He draped one over Fay’s trembling shoulders and wrapped the second securely around her legs, kneeling to tuck the edges beneath her cold shoes with deliberate care.
Fay pulled the wool tight beneath her chin, watching him through wide, guarded eyes.
She knew his reputation.
In New Orleans, mothers told their sons that crossing Rafferty Cain was an invitation to a watery grave in the swamp.
Judges looked the other way when his trucks rolled through the harbor, and police captains spoke to him with their hats in their hands.
Yet this same man was on his knees before her, stoking a fire to keep the cold from her bones.
"Why are you doing this?" Fay asked, her voice trembling.
Rafferty rose to his feet and looked down at her.
"Because this happened under my roof," he said.
"Because no person who enters my house to earn an honest wage will ever be treated like dirt beneath a guest's heel."
"She was your fiancée," Fay countered softly.
"She was an alliance," Rafferty corrected instantly, his tone devoid of warmth.
"A contract written on paper.
And that contract ended the moment she forced a working woman onto the stone for her vanity."
He walked over to a crystal decanter on the sideboard, poured three fingers of dark bourbon, and brought the glass back to her.
"Drink it."
Fay looked at the amber liquid with hesitation.
"It won't harm you," Rafferty said, the ghost of a wry smile touching the scar on his jaw.
"It will force the blood back through your veins."
Fay took the heavy crystal with two trembling hands and took a sip.
The bourbon burned like molten iron sliding down her throat, but the heat flared outward through her chest, shocking the chill from her lungs.
A quiet knock sounded at the double doors.
Silvano stepped inside, his expression completely grave.
He took in the scene without batting an eye; he had served Rafferty long enough to understand that his commander operated under a personal code that defied ordinary underworld logic.
"You called for Dr. Miller, Boss?" Silvano asked.
"He is waiting in the downstairs examination room," Rafferty said.
"Have him bring anti-inflammatory salves and thermal wraps up here immediately."
"Understood," Silvano nodded, turning to go, but Rafferty raised a hand.
"Silvano."
"Yes, Boss?"
"The Vanderpool maritime agreement.
Tear it up."
Silvano’s eyes narrowed slightly in caution.
"Rafferty...
that contract represents twelve million dollars in Gulf freight rights over the next two years.
Reginald Vanderpool will not take the cancellation lying down.
It could spark an all-out war along the river."
"Let him try," Rafferty said, his voice dropping into that terrifying, absolute stillness.
"A family that raises a daughter without honor has no place in my business.
Notify the harbormaster that the Vanderpool vessels are barred from our berths at dawn.
If Reginald complains, tell him he can discuss it with my riflemen."
Silvano inclined his head with deep respect.
"It will be done, Boss."
The heavy doors clicked shut once more.
Fay stared at the man standing before the hearth, her mind struggling to comprehend what she had just witnessed.
"Twelve million dollars?" she whispered.
"You just threw away an empire’s fortune...
because of what she did to me?"
Rafferty looked at her through the amber firelight.
"I did not throw it away because of you, Miss Delacroix," he said quietly.
"I threw it away because of me.
I decide who I am in this city.
May you like
Not the Vanderpools.
And certainly not their money."
