Chapter 4 - The Cracks in the Past
The study was locked from the inside. Rocco stood by the fireplace, his coat discarded, his shirt sleeves rolled up. On his mahogany desk lay a stark piece of white paper. Written on it in bold, aggressive black ink was the word: ASHFORD.
Delaney stood across from him, her hands trembling slightly despite her best efforts to remain calm. "It doesn't make sense. The Ashfords are old money aristocrats. They deal in real estate, banking, and political influence. They aren't street thugs. They don't break into mafia-controlled shipping docks."
"Old money doesn't mean clean money, Delaney," Rocco said, his voice dangerously low. "You told me your late husband died of lymphoma. You told me his family cast you out because you couldn't give them an heir. Is there anything else? Did Grant owe someone money? Was he involved in something he shouldn't have been?"
"No!" Delaney defended instantly, but then she paused.
She remembered the final months of Grant’s life. The endless phone calls he would take in whispers from his hospital bed. The way his sister, Whitney, would look at him with terror in her eyes. The way Catherine Ashford would dismiss the nurses whenever certain "business associates" arrived. Delaney had been so blinded by grief, so exhausted by the grueling routine of caretaking, that she had never questioned it. She had assumed it was standard corporate stress.
"I... I don't know," Delaney admitted, her voice dropping to a whisper. "Grant handled all the finances. After he died, Catherine forced me to sign a non-disclosure agreement and a total waiver of rights before I could even pack my clothes. Whitney looked like she wanted to tell me something, but she was too afraid of her mother."
Rocco walked around the desk, stopping just inches from her. The scent of his cedarwood cologne wrapped around her, steadying her trembling nerves. "Finn is running a deep background check on the Ashford Group’s financial holdings. If they are trying to intimidate me using your presence in my house, they have made a fatal mistake."
"Rocco, I don't want to bring danger to your daughters," Delaney said, looking up at him with wide, genuine eyes. "If my being here endangers Piper and Aria, I can leave. We can tell the court—"
"No," Rocco interrupted, his tone absolute. He reached out, his thumb gently catching her chin, forcing her to look at him. "You are my wife now, Delaney. In name, and in the eyes of the law. No one dictates who stays in my house. Not the Whitfields, and certainly not the Ashfords. You stay."
The intensity of his gaze was overwhelming. Delaney felt her heart hammer against her ribs, a strange, intoxicating mixture of fear and desire swirling within her. Before she could answer, a loud crash echoed from upstairs, followed by a piercing scream.
Rocco and Delaney sprinted up the stairs, Finn appearing from the hallway with his weapon drawn.
They burst into the girls' playroom. A heavy porcelain vase lay shattered on the floor. Aria was cowering in the corner, her face buried in her hands, sobbing uncontrollably. Piper was standing over her, her face flushed red with rage, clutching a small, leather-bound diary to her chest.
Standing near the doorway was a woman Delaney hadn't seen before—a sharp-featured, severely dressed woman in her late forties. It was Eleanor Vance, the court-appointed child advocate. Her first unannounced visit had just begun, and she had walked right into a disaster.
"What is the meaning of this?" Eleanor demanded, her notebook already open, her pen poised like a weapon. "I arrive to find the children unsupervised, and this child throwing a violent tantrum!"
Delaney bypassed Eleanor entirely, dropping to her knees in the glass-strewn room. She ignored the danger to herself and crawled straight to Aria, pulling the trembling little girl into her arms. "I’ve got you, sweetheart. You’re safe. Breathe, Aria, just breathe with me."
Rocco stepped in front of Eleanor, his towering frame completely blocking her view of the children, his voice a wall of ice. "Ms. Vance. You entered my home without my knowledge. My housekeeper was downstairs preparing their meal. Explain your presence before I have my security escort you out."
"I am the court advocate!" Eleanor snapped. "And from what I see, this environment is highly volatile!"
Meanwhile, Delaney turned her attention to Piper. She didn't yell. She kept her voice incredibly soft, pitching it beneath the adult argument. "Piper. Look at me, brave girl. What happened?"
Piper’s lower lip trembled, the fierce facade finally cracking. She looked down at the leather-bound book in her hands. "She... she was going through Mommy’s old things in the closet. She had no right. She was touching Mommy’s book."
Delaney’s heart broke. Eleanor Vance hadn't just been inspecting; she had been snooping through the deceased Isabella’s belongings, triggering the girls' deepest traumas.
Delaney stood up, handing Aria gently to Finn, who had slipped his gun away and now held the little girl with surprising tenderness. Delaney walked right up to Eleanor Vance, her eyes blazing with a maternal fury that rivaled any mafia don.
"You have a job to do, Ms. Vance," Delaney said, her voice shaking with controlled rage. "But violating the privacy of a deceased mother’s belongings in front of her grieving children is not advocacy. It is psychological cruelty. You will leave this house immediately. If you wish to interview the children, you will do so in a structured environment, with their father and me present. Now, get out."
Eleanor opened her mouth to argue, but she caught the look in Rocco’s eyes—a promise of absolute ruin—and the fierce, uncompromising stance of Delaney. She gathered her coat, flushed with embarrassment and anger, and marched out of the house.
As the front door slammed shut, the house fell quiet again. Rocco turned to Delaney, an unreadable expression on his face.
"You just threw a court official out of our house," he said quietly.
"She crossed the line," Delaney said, her chest heaving as she smoothed down her suit. "Nobody hurts these girls. Nobody."
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Rocco walked over to her, his hand reaching out to gently brush a stray lock of hair from her face. "You really are their mother, aren't you?"
Delaney looked at him, the truth settling deep into her soul. She had taken this job for survival, but somewhere along the way, she had fallen completely, irrevocably in love with this fractured family.
