Page 111 of Ruthless Serenade

I reach out instinctively to touch her face, then pull back - one wrong move could shatter this fragile moment. "No," I say finally. "I haven’t been with the angels. But now, I am. Because you and your mom are my angels."

She looks up at me, wonder dancing in her bright blue eyes. "And you’re going to stay with us?"

"Absolutely," I confirm, fighting past the tightness in my throat. "I’m not going anywhere. You, me, and your mom – we’re family now."

Sharon falls quiet, contemplating this promise with all the gravity a child can muster. "I’m glad you’re not with the angels," she whispers.

I slowly reach out and gently squeeze her small hand. "Me too, sweetheart. Me too."

Sitting here in my office, where I’ve orchestrated countless operations and commanded an empire built on blood and steel, I’m brought to my knees by this tiny girl. For the first time in a long fucking time, I begin to understand what it truly means to be powerful. Not through fear or force, but through the simple act of my daughter choosing to break her silence for me.

Ruthless Bratva boss, owner of a global media conglomerate, the most feared man in New York City, completely undone by a child’s trust.

Maybe this is what redemption feels like.

Chapter Fifty-Three

Mindy

I sit in the sterile lobby of Bedford Hills Correctional Facility.

My legs are bouncing with nervous energy as I await admittance. The massive complex stands isolated, a concrete fortress that took me two hours to reach through winding roads.

I’m here to see Dr. Rachel Anderson.

When I told Maron about my planned visit, his reaction was exactly what I’d expected. Barely contained fury.

"Why on earth would you want to see our daughter’s abductor?" he’d scowled.

"Because she’s a broken person," I’d explained softly. "And I empathize with what she went through. I want to forgive her."

"Forgive her?!" Maron’s voice had risen.

I’d met his gaze, nodding firmly. "Yes, Maron. I want to forgive her. It’s my way of making peace with what happened."

A harsh alarm jolts me from my memories, orange warning lights flashing briefly before fading. Rising on unsteady legs, I approach the counter. "I’m here to see Dr. Rachel Anderson."

The guard’s weathered face barely shifts as he studies his screen. "Identification, please," he demands flatly. I slide my driver’s license across the counter.

After a battery of security checks, he stands up and escorts me through a maze of corridors until we reach an open door. I enter the meeting room with forced confidence, chin lifted high, even though my heart is hammering against my ribs. This will be my first face-to-face encounter with Rachel Anderson.

Relax, Mindy.

No matter how this conversation goes, you’ll be okay.

Then I spot her. A beautiful young woman sitting behind the glass partition.

"You have a maximum of twenty minutes," the guard announces brusquely before stepping aside.

I settle into the chair across from Rachel. Our eyes meet in mutual assessment. She’s striking, yet looks broken. It’s as if she carries the weight of the world on her shoulders. Looking at her now, you’d never guess she orchestrated my daughter’s kidnapping. With her beautiful eyebrows, perfect teeth, and youthful features, she could be anyone’s daughter, sister, friend. Nothing about her screams ‘criminal.’

"Hello," I say softly. "I’m Mindy Williams."

Rachel’s gaze pins me in place, unflinching. "You know who I am," she states, settling back in her chair with detachment.

I draw in a steadying breath before speaking. "They treat you well?" It’s a stupid question that slips out unbidden. This is not how I imagined this conversation.

"Well enough." She turns away, her voice catching slightly.

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