Chapter 8 - The Room Without Windows
Dalia woke in a room without windows.
For one terrible second, she thought the cistern had become smaller, warmer, disguised.
Then she heard the steady beep of a monitor.
She turned her head.
Rowan sat in a chair beside the bed.
His shirt was stained with mud. His left cheek was bruised. One hand was bandaged badly, as if he had refused help or threatened the person giving it.
Bobby slept on the floor between the door and Dalia’s bed.
She tried to speak.
Rowan leaned forward immediately.
“Water.”
He lifted a glass with a straw. Dalia drank, coughed, and winced.
“The baby?”
“Heartbeat is strong.”
Her eyes filled before she could stop them.
Rowan looked away, giving her privacy in the only way he seemed to understand—by pretending not to see what would embarrass her.
“A doctor came?”
“Yes.”
“To the estate?”
“To the safe room.”
Dalia looked around.
The room was plain but expensive. Medical equipment. A narrow sofa. Reinforced door. No windows. Cameras in the corners.
“Why do you have a hospital room under your house?”
“My family.”
That answered too much and not enough.
Dalia closed her eyes.
“Enzo.”
“Gone.”
“Gone where?”
“Running.”
“Salvatore?”
“In his rooms.”
“You let him stay?”
Rowan’s mouth hardened. “For now.”
Dalia forced herself upright despite the pain. “He tried to kill me.”
“I know.”
“Then why is he breathing?”
Bobby lifted his head.
Rowan’s eyes returned to hers.
“Because if I kill the visible traitor, the hidden one survives.”
“There are more?”
“There are always more.”
Dalia laughed bitterly. “That should be on your family crest.”
“It practically is.”
The absurdity broke something in her. She began shaking, then crying, then trying to stop because crying hurt her ribs. Rowan did not touch her. He simply sat there and let the room hold her grief without demanding she make it pretty.
After a while, she whispered, “I thought I was going to die.”
Rowan’s face changed.
“So did I.”
The confession was quiet. Almost unwilling.
Dalia looked at him.
He stood and moved toward the door, but she spoke before he could leave.
“Why did your family need me dead?”
Rowan stopped.
“Rest.”
“No.”
“You nearly drowned.”
“Then I have earned the truth.”
He turned back.
For a moment, she saw the war inside him: command against conscience, habit against trust.
Finally, he reached into his jacket and removed the black drive.
“Your files were not the only ones my father left behind.”
Dalia stared at the drive.
“Before he died, my father created a succession lock. If evidence surfaced proving family council members conspired with outside criminal partners against the company, their emergency shares would freeze automatically pending federal review.”
“That sounds good.”
“It is. Unless you are the family council.”
Dalia understood slowly.
“Salvatore.”
“Bianca. Enzo. Others.”
“And Daniel?”
“Daniel Marsh was supposed to marry his sister into my life, help them create a clean path to the trust, and receive port access as payment. But Daniel became greedy.”
Dalia touched her stomach.
“Me.”
“Yes. A pregnant woman tied to Daniel could expose that he was moving independently. It gives prosecutors motive, timeline, leverage. It proves Daniel was not simply advising Isla. He was building his own claim.”
“Through my baby?”
Rowan’s voice lowered. “Through fear. Through custody. Through whatever he could force you to sign.”
Dalia looked down at her hands.
“He used to bring me papers. Small things. Apartment forms. Banking updates. Authorization letters.”
Rowan closed his eyes briefly.
“He was preparing.”
“For what?”
“To make you useful even after you ran.”
The words settled like ash.
Dalia thought of Daniel’s calm voice, his gentle corrections, the way he had once kissed her forehead while asking her to sign something she had not read.
She whispered, “I feel stupid.”
Rowan’s reply came sharp and immediate.
“You were targeted. That is not the same thing.”
Dalia looked up.
No one had said that to her before.
The door monitor buzzed.
Mrs. Hargrove’s voice came through the speaker. “Mr. Fiero. Mr. Salvatore requests an audience.”
Rowan pressed the button.
“Denied.”
“He says it concerns the maid.”
Rowan’s face became lethal.
Dalia sat straighter. “Let him in.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“Dalia.”
“You said you need the hidden one. Let him think I am weaker than I am.”
Rowan stared at her.
Then slowly, almost unwillingly, he smiled.
“You are inconvenient.”
“So I have been told.”
He pressed the intercom.
“Bring my uncle.”
May you like
Bobby stood.
Dalia wiped her face, lifted her chin, and waited for the man who had tried to erase her to walk into the room and discover she had survived.
