From Discarded Wife To The Don's Successor

Florence Horton POV The lawyers arrived an hour later. They weren’t corporate lawyers in pinstripes. They were *Family* lawyers. Men who knew how to hide bodies as well as they hid assets. "The divorce settlement," the Consigliere, a man named Silvio, said, placing a document on my bed tray. "We are asking for nothing. No alimony. No shares." "Nothing?" I asked, my voice raspy. "Only full custody of Ava," Silvio said. "And a restraining order." "Julius will never sign it," I said. "He needs me as leverage." "He will sign," Horacio said from the window, his silhouette cutting against the light. "Or he will disappear." "No," I said. "Not yet. He needs to suffer first." My phone pinged. A Google Alert. *SCANDAL: JULIUS CARROLL'S MISTRESS EXPOSED AS FRAUD.* My team had been busy. I picked up the tablet. The article was brutal. It detailed Kenzie's past as a "yacht girl" in Miami, her fake degree, and—the cherry on top—her history of blackmailing married men. It didn't mention the leukemia. I was saving that for the final blow. "Phase one," I murmured. But Julius was desperate. And desperate men are dangerous. My phone rang. It was the nanny. She was crying, her breath hitching so hard I could barely understand her. "Mrs. Carroll... I'm so sorry... Mr. Carroll came to the school... he had police officers with him... they took Ava." The world stopped. My blood didn't just turn to ice; it vanished, leaving me hollow. "Where?" I whispered, the word scraping my throat. "He said... he said he was taking her home." With a savage yank, I ripped the IV out of my arm. Warm blood splattered on the pristine white sheets. "Florence," Horacio warned, stepping forward. "He has her," I said, swinging my legs off the bed. "He took her back to the Penthouse." "Marcus," Horacio commanded the head of security. "Get the team." "No team," I said, standing up. The room spun violently, but I forced it to stop through sheer will. "If we send soldiers, he'll use her as a shield. He's a coward. I have to go alone." "I cannot allow that," my father said. "I'm not asking for permission, Don Horton. I'm telling you what I'm doing." I looked at him, meeting his gaze with a hardness that mirrored his own. For the first time, he didn't see a victim. He saw himself. "Take the car," he said, a strange pride in his eyes. "Marcus will be two minutes behind you." I drove to the Penthouse, my knuckles white on the steering wheel. I still had my key. The apartment was quiet. Too quiet. "Julius!" I screamed. I found them in the living room. Julius was sitting on the sofa, drinking scotch straight from the bottle. Kenzie was pacing, looking at her phone, hysterical about the news article. Ava was nowhere to be seen. "Where is she?" I demanded. "She's in the soundproof room," Julius said, swirling his drink, his eyes bloodshot. "The basement studio. She can't hear us." "You monster." "You leaked the story about Kenzie," he accused, his voice slurring. "You ruined her reputation." "She ruined it herself when she opened her legs for a married man." Kenzie shrieked and lunged at me. I side-stepped her clumsy attack and shoved her. She fell onto the coffee table, shattering a vase in a spray of crystal and water. Julius stood up unsteadily. He pulled a gun from his waistband. A small, shiny pistol. He held it awkwardly, his hand trembling. "Sit down, Florence." I stared at the gun. "You don't have the guts." "I have nothing left to lose!" he shouted, spit flying from his lips. "The investors are pulling out. The bank froze the accounts because of the 'irregularities'. You did this!" "You did it to yourself." He lashed out. He pistol-whipped me. The metal caught me on the temple. Pain exploded in my skull, and I fell to my knees. "Lock her in the basement with the brat," he told Kenzie. "I need to think." Kenzie grabbed my hair and dragged me. I let her. I needed to get to Ava. They threw me into the soundproof studio—the 'dungeon'—and locked the heavy steel door. Ava was huddled in the corner, under a piano. "Mommy?" I crawled to her, ignoring the throbbing in my head. "I'm here, baby. I'm here." I checked her frantically. No bruises. Just terrified. We sat there in the dark for hours. I could feel the vibrations of footsteps upstairs, pacing like caged animals. Then, the door clicked. It wasn't Julius. It was the Butler, an old man named Henry. "Mrs. Carroll," he whispered, his face pale. "I... I can't do this. He's talking about... about an accident." "Let us out, Henry." He opened the door wider, his hands shaking. "Go. The service elevator." I grabbed Ava's hand. We ran. We made it to the lobby. The night air hit my face. Freedom. But as we stepped onto the sidewalk, a black van screeched to a halt at the curb. Two men in tactical gear jumped out. They weren't police. They weren't Horton soldiers. They were "Cleaners." Mercenaries. One of them grabbed Ava. "No!" I screamed, tackling him. The other one grabbed me from behind. A cloth was pressed over my face. A sickly sweet chemical smell filled my nose. Chloroform. My legs gave out instantly. The last thing I saw was Julius standing in the doorway of the building, watching. He wasn't stopping them. He had hired them. He had sold his wife and child to disappear. Then, the darkness took me.