Chapter 3 - The Vault of St. Jude
The black armored Suburban sliced through the torrential rain, its heavy tires throwing up sheets of water as it sped away from the neon-lit ruins of Rosalie’s Diner.
Inside the leather-lined cabin, the atmosphere was thick enough to cut with a knife. The triplets were sleeping soundly now, nestled in custom car seats in the middle row, their tiny hands curled into loose fists. Noelle sat in the passenger seat, staring out the rain-streaked window at the blurring city lights, her mind spinning so fast she felt like she was trapped in freefall.
"Where are we going?" she asked, her voice cracking.
"To my estate in Oyster Bay," Damian replied from the driver’s seat, his hands gripping the leather steering wheel with white-knuckled intensity. "My security team secured Dr. Vance's old private residence in upstate New York three hours ago. We found a locked wall safe behind his library shelving. It contains the primary ledgers—the real ones he was too arrogant to burn."
Noelle turned her head to look at him, her heart hammering against her ribs. "You knew before you came to the diner."
"I knew Vance had victims," Damian admitted, his jaw tight. "I knew he operated out of St. Jude's. But I didn't know who the mothers were. The records were wiped clean. Until today... until I saw the way those babies reacted to you."
He glanced sideways, his dark gaze sweeping over her face, noting the tear tracks, the swollen eyes, and the fierce, awakening defiance in her posture.
"You think I'm part of some syndicate trick," Damian said, reading her thoughts with unsettling accuracy. "You think I'm using your grief to find leverage against Vance's associates."
"Aren't you?" Noelle asked bitterly. "You're Damian Marchetti. Men like you don't rescue waitresses out of the goodness of your heart. You collect assets. You build empires."
"I am a man who lost his wife and very nearly lost his children to a syndicate of monsters who trade in human life," Damian snapped, his voice rising, carrying a flash of the dangerous authority that made the underworld tremble. He pulled the SUV smoothly off the highway onto a private, gated access road flanked by towering iron fences and ancient oak trees. "When my wife, Elena, went into labor, Vance was the only doctor permitted in the surgical suite. An hour later, he came out with three infants and told me Elena had suffered a fatal postpartum hemorrhage on the operating table."
A cold shudder ran down Noelle’s spine. "He lied to you too."
"My security detail found discrepancies in the hospital’s oxygen logs for that night," Damian said, slowing the vehicle as they approached a sprawling, limestone-and-glass mansion illuminated by soft exterior lights. "Elena didn't die of a hemorrhage. She was poisoned with a slow-acting paralytic because she discovered Vance was falsifying birth records in the maternity ward. She threatened to go to the authorities."
The SUV came to a halt in the grand circular driveway. Rain drummed a relentless tattoo against the roof.
Noelle sat frozen, the pieces of a horrific puzzle finally snapping together in her mind. Fourteen months ago, she and Elena had likely been in the exact same hospital—perhaps even floors apart—while a corrupt doctor and his administrative lackeys played God with their lives and their children.
"You want revenge," Noelle said softly.
"I want justice," Damian corrected, killing the engine. He turned in his seat to face her, his dark eyes fierce and unyielding. "And I want my children's mother back—or as close to it as the world will allow. Those babies spent fourteen months screaming because they knew something was missing. They were looking for the heartbeat they shared in the womb."
May you like
He reached out and gently pushed open her door.
As Noelle stepped out into the rain, feeling the cool night air hit her face, she didn't feel like the broken, exhausted waitress who had scrubbed diner counters an hour ago. She felt something far more dangerous beginning to take root in her chest: cold, hard, unshakeable rage.
