Chapter 4 - The Highway in the Rain
The storm reached its peak at nine o'clock. Torrential rain lashed against the windshield of Julian Moretti’s heavy armored SUV as it sped down Highway 29, miles outside the Atlanta city limits.
In the front passenger seat, Marcus Vance was staring at his tablet screen, his brow furrowed in deep concentration. “The security team arrived at the Buckhead residence at seven, Julian. The house was completely dark. Denise Whitmore’s car was gone, and Lily Bennett wasn't answering her phone.”
Julian gripped the leather steering wheel, his knuckles turning white. A dark, terrifying feeling had been growing in his chest for two hours. He had known the moment he looked into Lily’s brilliant, guarded eyes under that oak tree that she was in danger. He had sent a team, but he should have gone himself.
“Run her phone’s last known GPS ping again,” Julian commanded, his voice cold as ice.
“The signal died forty minutes ago near the Old Quarry Road junction,” Vance reported, typing furiously. “It’s a desolate stretch of highway. No streetlights, no businesses.”
“She wouldn't go there voluntarily,” Julian said, slamming his foot down on the accelerator. The heavy SUV surged forward through the blinding rain.
Ten minutes later, the high beams of the SUV cut through the sheets of falling water, illuminating an empty shoulder of the rural road.
Julian slammed on the brakes, bringing the vehicle to a skidding stop beside a deep drainage ditch lined with tall weeds and jagged rocks.
He opened the door and stepped straight out into the pouring rain, ignoring Vance’s shouts for him to stay inside. He scanned the dark ditch, his rain-soaked hair sticking to his forehead.
Then he saw it.
A flash of dark blue fabric half-submerged in the rushing muddy water at the bottom of the ditch.
“Lily!” Julian roared, plunging down the slick mud slope without hesitation.
He reached the bottom, sliding on his knees into the ice-cold water. He grabbed her shoulders, pulling her limp, soaked body out of the mud and cradle-holding her against his chest.
Her skin was pale as marble, her lips tinted a faint, terrifying blue. Her pulse beneath his fingers was faint, irregular, and dying fast.
“Get the medical kit from the trunk!” Julian bellowed up the slope toward his security team. “Call my father’s private medical transport! Tell them to clear Trauma Suite A at Saint Jude’s!”
He lifted Lily into his broad arms, stepping back up the muddy embankment with powerful, frantic strides. Blood from a sharp cut on her temple was running down her face, staining the front of his pristine white dress shirt dark crimson.
He laid her flat on the leather back seat of the SUV, pressing two fingers hard against her neck. “Stay with me, Lily,” he growled through his teeth, his voice breaking with a raw emotion he hadn't felt in years. “Don't you dare close your eyes. Stay with me.”
Back in the present, inside the sterile white glow of Trauma Suite A at Saint Jude’s Hospital, the memory faded from Lily’s consciousness like smoke clearing after a fire.
She lay on the elevated hospital bed, the soft click of the IV pump administering neutralizing agents into her blood being the only sound in the private room.
Julian was still standing beside her bed, his hand hovering inches from hers. The blood from her wound was still dried across the collar of his shirt.
Through the glass wall, Vincent Moretti walked slowly into the room. The elder Moretti was a legend in the South—a man whose quiet word could break commercial banks or dismantle political careers overnight. He carried an ebony walking stick, his dark eyes assessing Lily with intense, evaluating calm.
“Miss Bennett,” Vincent said, his deep, resonant voice filling the quiet suite. “I am Vincent Moretti. My son brought you here six hours ago. The chief of toxicology informs me you were administered a lethal dose of a concentrated cardiac toxin.”
Lily swallowed hard, her throat feeling raw. “Denise...” she whispered again, her voice thin.
“We know,” Julian said softly, sitting on the edge of her bed. He reached out and gently closed his hand over hers, his heavy silver ring cold against her feverish skin. “Your aunt believed you were dead in that ditch. She and her daughter are currently attending the post-gala VIP dinner at the Commerce Club downtown, establishing their alibi.”
A cold shudder ran down Lily’s spine. “She... she stole my father’s trust. She gave it to Victor Vane.”
Vincent Moretti’s eyes flicked sharply toward his son. The name Victor Vane hung in the air like a heavy curtain of frost.
“Victor Vane,” Vincent repeated quietly, tapping his ebony stick once against the floor. “So Vane has been expanding his reach into Buckhead probate estates. I was wondering where he found the capital to bid on the Westside rail corridor expansion.”
Julian looked up at his father, his dark eyes burning with absolute, lethal intent. “Vane tried to murder her to cover his paper trail, Father.”
“I am aware, Julian,” Vincent said calmly. He stepped closer to the bed, looking down at Lily’s small, pale face. “Miss Bennett, you are a brilliant young woman. My son does not bring strangers to this hospital. And he certainly does not ruin a six-thousand-dollar suit carrying strangers out of muddy ditches.”
Lily looked between the powerful father and his formidable son, her heart hammering against her ribs.
“You have two choices tonight, Lily,” Vincent said, his voice flat, precise, and absolute. “Choice one: we notify the Atlanta Police Department. They will arrest your aunt tomorrow morning. There will be a long, messy trial. Vane’s lawyers will tie the evidence up in appeals for five years, and your safety will never again be guaranteed in this city.”
Lily leaned forward slightly, her fingers tightening around Julian’s hand. “What is choice two?”
Vincent allowed a faint, terrifying smile to touch his thin lips. “Choice two: you let the Moretti family handle it. By sunrise, your aunt will lose everything she stole from you. Vane’s illegal enterprise will cease to exist. And you will step into your new life under my family’s protection.”
Lily didn't hesitate for a single second. The memory of the glass at her lips, the taste of the bitter poison, and six years of emotional torture burnt in her mind like white-hot iron.
May you like
“Choice two,” Lily whispered clearly.
Julian’s grip on her hand tightened. “Marcus Vance is already executing the court orders,” he told her softly. “Rest now, Lily. Tomorrow, you watch the house burn.”
