The Godfather's Love (Erika and Charles) novel Chapter 20

Chapter 20

Then ambushed by lesser predators, left broken on the ground.

Pathetic.

And deeply sad.

“I see,” I said at last.

“Do you want to come back? Just to-”

“No, Papa,” I interrupted him gently.

“Charles and I… are finished.”

I hung up.

Then stood by the window for a long time.

Sunlight streamed through the glass, casting golden shapes on the floor.

Down on the street, couples strolled arm in arm.

An old man walked his dog.

Children ran, laughing.

It was a world without Charles Nell.

A world…

quiet.

A few days later, I boarded a flight back to Seattle.

Not for him.

There were final property transfers to sign, and details to finalize with the Churchill family’s expansion into Europe.

Strictly business.

It was a gray day when I landed.

The air smelled of salt and dampness that never quite left this city.

The legal process went surprisingly smoothly.

Charles’ representative-Antonio, now acting head-had everything prepared and in order.

He was calm, measured, and respectful throughout.

As if that sordid betrayal, that bitter war between us, had never happened.

“How is he?” I asked as our final meeting wrapped up.

+45 Coins

Chapter 20

Antonio adjusted his reading glasses. His face, lined and weary, softened.

+45 Coins

“Not well, Miss Churchill… I mean, madam. Apologies.” He sighed. “The leg injury was worse than they thought. Poor bone setting. Walking may always

be… difficult.”

He hesitated.

“His spirit’s broken too. Keeps to the manor. Sees no one.”

I nodded.

There was nothing else to say.

As I stepped out of the law office, it began to drizzle.

The driver opened the car door for me.

Just as I was about to slide in, something caught my eye.

Across the street, in front of the hospital, sat a man in a wheelchair.

A nurse I didn’t recognize was helping him toward a transport van.

It was Charles.

He wore a light gray tracksuit under a black jacket.

He looked thinner-his face hollow, that once carefully styled blond hair now unkempt and falling over his brow.

His injured leg was wrapped thickly in plaster, sticking out stiffly.

He seemed to sense something.

He looked up.

Through the drizzle, through the blur of headlights and passing traffic, his eyes met mine.

We stared at each other across the slick, rain-soaked street.

I couldn’t quite read his expression through the veil of rain.

But I felt the weight of his gaze-heavy, like lead soaked in water.

There was no anger.

No blame.

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