Free Web NovelChapter 40: Comforting Words
Sunday arrived with gray skies and the promise of rain. The clouds hung low over the city, pressing down on the buildings and streets like a held breath. Inside a nondisclosed location on the outskirts of town, the atmosphere was even heavier.
Days of intense preparation had transformed the hideout into a war room, with maps spread across tables and weapons laid out on racks and men moving through the hallways with purpose in their steps and tension in their shoulders. freewebnøvel.coɱ
Keres stood at the head of the main table, her arms crossed over her chest, and her eyes fixed on the tablet in Sandro’s hands.
She had been here for three days straight, sleeping only in short increments when her body refused to continue, surviving on coffee and whiskey and the cold fury that burned in her chest like a furnace.
Her hair was pulled back in a tight ponytail, and she wore black from head to toe, blending into the shadows that gathered in the corners of the room.
The men respected her. They feared her. But more than that, they believed in her. Keres Eisenthurn had never lost a battle, had never backed down from a fight, and had never let anyone threaten what belonged to her and walk away unscathed. This time would be no different.
Sandro approached with the tablet held in both hands, his expression as neutral as ever but his eyes were sharp with the knowledge of what was at stake.
He had been Keres right hand for nearly a decade, and he had seen her angry before, had seen her cold, cruel, and terrifying. But this was different. This was personal. And when Keres got personal, people die.
"Boss," Sandro said as he stopped beside her and pulled up the relevant files. "That is the structural plan. The snipers will position in this building one kilometer away from the premises. We have already checked everything, and it is done. Every exit has been mapped, every blind spot has been covered, and every possible escape route has been sealed."
Keres took the tablet from him and scrolled through the plans with quick, efficient movements. Her eyes scanned the blueprints, the marked positions, the timings, the contingencies, and the fallback options. She found no flaws, no gaps, no room for error. Good.
She would accept nothing less.
She handed the tablet back to Sandro and reached for the glass of whiskey on the table beside her. The amber liquid caught the light as she raised it to her lips, she took a slow sip, letting the burn settle in her throat before she spoke.
"Good," she said, her voice flat and cold. "Make sure to prepare our safe prison. Alive or not, we will collect them all. I want every single one of them accounted for. No stragglers, no escapees, no loose ends. Is that understood?"
Sandro bowed his head. "Yes, boss. It will be done."
He turned and walked away to prepare his men, his footsteps echoing against the concrete floor as he disappeared through the doorway.
The room fell silent again, filled only with the hum of electronics and the distant sound of rain beginning to fall against the windows.
Keres took another sip of whiskey and stared at nothing. Her reflection stared back at her from the dark surface of the tablet, and she saw the anger there, carved into her features like something permanent.
No one threatened an Eisenthurn. That was the rule, the law, the unbreakable truth that everyone in this city understood. Her father had built that reputation with blood and iron, and Keres had inherited it along with his name and his fortune and his utter refusal to be crossed.
She did not understand why a bunch of minor gangs loved to provoke her even though they already knew who she was. It was like watching insects throw themselves at a flame, stupid and suicidal and utterly baffling.
Did they think she would show mercy? Did they think she would hesitate? Did they think she was someone who could be intimidated or bought or reasoned with?
They were wrong. They would learn how wrong they were. And by the time they learned, it would be too late for regrets.
Keres set down her whiskey glass and walked to the other end of the room, where a massive painting hung on the wall. The painting was enormous, taking up nearly the entire wall from floor to ceiling, and it depicted a scene of chaos and violence that most people would find disturbing. frёeweɓηovel.coɱ
Blood pooled in rivers, bodies lay decapitated and broken, and in the center of it all stood a figure wreathed in shadow, her face obscured but her presence undeniable.
It was not her father’s idea to buy this painting, though he had admired it when he first saw it. Keres had purchased it herself at an auction three years ago, paying three million dollars for the privilege of owning something that made people uncomfortable.
The painting did not really mean anything, not in the symbolic sense. Keres was not trying to send a message or explore deep philosophical themes about the nature of violence.
She had bought it because she could, because three million dollars was nothing to her, because she liked the way it looked against the wall. It was simply there to remind anyone who entered this room exactly who they were dealing with.
A woman who could afford to spend three million dollars on a painting of gore. A woman who did not flinch at blood. A woman who would not hesitate to add to the body count if necessary.
Keres looked at the painting for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Then she turned away and poured herself another glass of whiskey, because the day was still young and she had work to do.
***
The Eisenthurn mansion was warm and bright despite the gray skies outside. Rain pattered against the windows, creating a soft rhythm that filled the rooms with something close to music.
Inside the main living room, Asteria sat by the large windows with an easel set up in front of her and a canvas propped against the frame. Her paintbrushes were arranged neatly on the table beside her, and her palette held swirls of color that she mixed with careful, deliberate strokes.
She was painting.
She had never painted in this house before, had never been brave enough to ask or bold enough to assume she was allowed. But Faye had insisted this morning when she arrived for lunch, had personally carried the easel into the living room and set it up by the windows so Asteria would have good light.
And now Asteria sat with a brush in her hand and a smile on her face, creating something beautiful just because she wanted to.
Faye sat on the sofa behind her, watching with satisfaction. Alfonso was in the armchair across the room, pretending to read his newspaper but actually watching Asteria paint every few seconds.
The scene was peaceful, domestic, the kind of moment that Asteria had never experienced in her father’s house.
"Asteria, dear," Faye said, breaking the comfortable silence. "Did Keres buy that painting material for you?"
Asteria looked up from her canvas and shook her head. A small, fond smile played at her lips. "No, Mama. But Keres let me use her credit card, so I bought it with Dina. She said I could buy whatever I liked, so I bought the painting supplies."
Faye expression shifted. The warmth in her eyes dimmed slightly, replaced by something that looked like disappointment. "Oh, how typical of my daughter," she said, and her voice carried a weight of frustration that made Asteria pause.
"It should be Keres who bought that for you, not you buying it yourself with her money. That is not the same thing at all. Hmph. That kid is really getting on my nerves."
She crossed her arms over her chest and huffed, her irritation was palpable. Asteria watched her mother in law with a mixture of amusement and confusion, not quite understanding why Faye was so upset.
To Asteria, being given permission to use the credit card had felt like generosity. To Faye, it clearly felt like something else entirely.
"But Mama," Asteria said softly, setting down her brush. "Keres gave me a bouquet last night."
Faye mood changed immediately. The irritation vanished from her face, replaced by surprise and then delight, her eyes widening and her lips parting in a genuine smile that reached all the way to her eyes. Even Alfonso lowered his newspaper, his eyebrows raised in interest.
"Roses and tulips," Asteria continued, her cheeks flushing slightly at the memory. "She said she did not know what my favorite flowers were, so she bought those because she thought they were pretty. She was awkward about it, like she did not know what she was doing. It was... It was sweet."
Faye clasped her hands together and let out a small sound of joy. "Are you sure you did not tell her to give you one?" Alfonso asked, his voice was gruff but his eyes were soft.
He was testing, Asteria realized, trying to determine if this was real or if Keres was simply performing for appearances.
"No, Papa," Asteria said firmly. "She just gave it to me. I did not ask for it. I did not expect it. She just... Came home with flowers and gave them to me."
Alfonso let out a low chuckle and returned to his newspaper, though the smile on his face did not fade. "Heh. That’s new."
Faye waved a hand at her husband. "Eh, shush it, Alfonso. Our daughter is finally finding her soft spot for her wife. Let me enjoy this moment without your commentary."
"I wasn’t commenting," Alfonso said from behind his newspaper. "I was observing. There is a difference."
"You were muttering. That is a form of commentary."
"I was muttering to myself. That is a form of thinking."
"Then think silently."
"I am thinking silently. You are the one who heard me."
Faye opened her mouth to retort, then closed it and shook her head. "I hope she keeps this up," she said, turning back to Asteria. "Her mood changes almost immediately, like daughter like mother indeed."
"Hey," Faye said, feigning offended to what Alfonso said. "She is also your daughter. If her mood changes, she got it from you."
Alfonso rounded on him with narrowed eyes. "And she got her stubbornness from you. So we are even."
"I am not stubborn. I am consistent."
"You are impossible."
"I am also beautiful."
Faye made a sound of frustration, but there was no heat in it. This was clearly a familiar pattern between them, the comfortable bickering of two people who had been married for decades and knew exactly how to push each other buttons without causing real harm.
Alfonso, however, seemed to realize that he had pushed too far this time. He set down his coffee cup with careful precision and closed his newspaper, folding it neatly on his lap. Then he looked at Asteria, and his eyes widened slightly, and Asteria understood immediately that he was sending her a signal.
Help, his eyes said. Save me from your mother in law.
Asteria bit back a laugh and reached for Faye hand. "Ah, Mama," she said, maybe a little too quickly. "What do you think of my painting?"
Faye turned away from Alfonso and gave her full attention to Asteria, her expression softening as she looked at the canvas. The painting was still unfinished, but even in its incomplete state, it was clearly something special.
Asteria had painted a portrait of Keres, capturing her sharp features and intense eyes and the way her hair fell across her face when she was thinking. The background was soft and blurred, drawing the eye directly to Keres expression, which Asteria had painted with surprising tenderness.
Faye gasped. "Wow," she said, leaning forward to study the painting more closely. "This is incredible. I... I did not know you had such a talent, Asteria. This is beautiful. Really, truly beautiful."
Asteria ducked her head, her cheeks flushing with pleasure. "Thank you, Mama."
"This is very amazing," Faye continued, gesturing at the canvas. "You painted Keres. You captured her perfectly. Why did you not tell us you could paint? This is a gift, a real gift."
Asteria smile faltered slightly. She looked down at her paint stained hands and shrugged, trying to make the gesture seem casual even though her throat was tightening.
"Because Papa never wanted me to paint, Mama," she said quietly. "He said it was a waste of time and that I should learn how to do womanly duties instead. Cooking and cleaning and obeying. Those were the only skills he thought I needed."
The room went very quiet.
Alfonso set down his newspaper completely. His jaw tightened, and something dark flickered across his face. "What the fuck?" The words came out low and rough, and Asteria realized that this was the first time she had heard her father in law curse. "How dare he say that to you? How dare he tell you that your talent is a waste of time?"
Faye sighed and reached for Asteria hand, holding it firmly but gently. Her thumb brushed across Asteria’s knuckles in a soothing rhythm. "Daughter," she said, and her voice was soft but fierce. "You are away from them now. They cannot reach you here, especially your father. Do you understand me? He has no power over you anymore."
Asteria nodded, but she couldn’t bring herself to believe it. The fear was too deep, too old, too woven into the fabric of who she was. William’s voice still echoed in her head on bad days, telling her she was worthless, telling her she was stupid, telling her she would never be good enough for anyone or anything.
It was hard to silence a voice that had been speaking for her entire life.
Faye squeezed her hand. "Me and your papa Alfonso, we will not do that to you. We are not like your family. If you want to paint, just paint. Fill this entire house with paintings if that is what makes you happy. If you want to sleep and do not want to do the dishes for Keres, damn my daughter, she can do the dishes herself. She has two working hands. She will survive."
Asteria let out a small laugh, and the sound surprised her. It was genuine, warm, pulled from somewhere deep inside her that she had forgotten existed.
Faye had a way of making things seem simple, of cutting through the fear and the doubt and the years of conditioning with nothing but her words.
"But I want you to know something, Asteria," Faye continued, her voice growing serious. "Whatever you do, you are loved here. You are not a stranger. You are not just a wife to do housewife duties. You are a person with your own feelings, your own desires, your own dreams. And you are allowed to have those things. You are allowed to want them, chase them, and hold them in your hands."
Asteria felt the tears coming before she could stop them. They welled up in her eyes and blurred her vision, and she tried to blink them away, tried to look down at the floor, tried to make herself smaller so she could carry the weight of Faye’s words without breaking.
But the weight was too heavy, her heart was too full, and the tears fell anyway.
"My dear," Faye said softly. "Do not hold your tears back. It is okay. Humans cry. And the moment we are all born, we cried. Because crying is not a sign of weakness. It is a sign that you are alive."
That was the final straw.
Asteria collapsed into Faye arms, pressing her face against her mother in law’s shoulder, and cried. Not the silent, restrained tears she had learned to cry in her father’s house, the ones that made no sound and left no trace.
She cried openly and loudly and messily, her sobs shaking her entire body, and her fingers clutching at Faye’s blouse like it was the only thing keeping her from drowning.
"Thank you so much, Mama," Asteria managed between sobs. The words were barely understandable, choked, broken, and wet, but Faye understood.
Faye wrapped her arms around Asteria and held her close, one hand stroking her hair and the other rubbing circles on her back. Her own eyes were damp, though she would never admit it.
"Shhh," she murmured. "It is okay. Let it all out. Mama is here. I am not going anywhere."
Alfonso watched from his armchair, his newspaper was forgotten on the table beside him. He did not say anything because he did not need to.
His hand reached out and rested on Asteria’s shoulder. Warm, heavy, solid, and the gesture said everything words could not. I am also here, he thought.
Silently comforting you, my daughter. You are not alone. You will never be alone again.
Asteria cried until she had no tears left. She cried for the little girl who had been told her dreams were worthless. She cried for the teenager who had learned to make herself small to avoid being hit. She cried for the young woman who had walked into a marriage expecting more pain and had found something she never thought she would find. Kindness. Warmth. A family.
When she finally pulled back from Faye’s embrace, her eyes were red, her face was blotchy, and her nose was running, but she was smiling. A real smile, shaky, raw, and beautiful.
"I am sorry," Asteria said, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. "I did not mean to cry so much."
"Do not apologize for crying," Faye said firmly. "Ever. Do you understand me? Tears are nothing to be ashamed of."
Asteria nodded and sniffled. "Yes, Mama."
Faye reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind Asteria ear, her touch gentle and maternal. "Now," she said, her voice brightening deliberately. "Show me more of this painting. I want to see every brushstroke. And then I want you to tell me what else you like to paint. Landscapes? Animals? More portraits of my difficult daughter?"
Asteria laughed, and the sound was lighter now, freer. "I like to painting flowers," she admitted. "Especially dandelions. They are my favorite."
Faye raised an eyebrow. "Dandelions?"
"They are yellow and bright," Asteria explained, picking up her brush again. "And they grow anywhere, even when no one plants them. They do not need anyone to take care of them. They just grow."
Faye looked at Asteria for a long moment, at the paint on her hands and the light in her eyes and the tears still drying on her cheeks. And she thought that Asteria reminded her of dandelions too.
Something that had grown in harsh soil, against all odds, and had emerged beautiful anyway.
"Dandelions it is," Faye said softly. "Paint me some dandelions, Asteria. I will hang them in my bedroom."
Asteria smile widened, and she turned back to her canvas with renewed energy. The rain continued to fall outside, soft and steady, but inside the Eisenthurn mansion, everything was warm, bright, and full of promise.
