Rising From Exile: The Widow's Comeback

The sting in Annetta's palm radiated up her forearm.

Milo slowly turned his head back. A red handprint blossomed across his jaw. His eyes went flat and dead. He drew his sidearm from his thigh holster and pressed the cold steel barrel directly against the center of Annetta's forehead.

Annetta didn't blink. She didn't breathe. She looked past the gun, her eyes locking onto Issac sitting on the sofa.

Behind her, Clara let out a blood-curdling scream. The little girl wrapped her arms around Annetta's legs, burying her face in the wet fabric of her pants, shaking so violently her teeth chattered.

The sound of her daughter's terror pierced Annetta's armor. She forced her muscles to relax. She slowly turned her back to Milo, ignoring the gun aimed at her skull, and dropped to her knees.

She pulled Clara into her chest.

"Look at me, Clara," Annetta whispered, her voice impossibly soft, impossibly steady.

Clara looked up, her blue eyes swimming in tears.

"Daddy isn't dead," Annetta lied, the words tasting like ash in her mouth. "He is on a secret mission. A very important mission to save the world."

She pointed a trembling finger at the heavily armed men surrounding them.

"These men are actors. Daddy sent them to test us. To see if we are brave enough to be a commander's family. You have to be brave, Clara. Don't let them see you cry."

Clara sniffled. She wiped her nose with the back of her sleeve and gave a small, jerky nod. She forced her small shoulders back.

A loud, grating laugh echoed across the room.

Issac stood up, clapping his hands in a slow, mocking rhythm.

"A secret mission?" Issac sneered. "That is pathetic, Annetta. Feeding the brat fairy tales to cover up the fact that her father died a disgraced, thieving coward."

Annetta stood up. She reached over to the silver tray on the coffee table, pulled a silk tissue from the box, and meticulously wiped the blood and sweat from the hand she had used to strike Milo.

"A Crane does not lose their composure," Annetta said, her voice dripping with absolute disdain. "Even when dealing with rabid dogs."

Issac's smile vanished. A muscle ticked in his jaw. He closed the distance between them until Annetta could smell the stale coffee and tobacco on his breath.

He unzipped his leather briefcase and slammed a stack of documents onto the glass table. The heavy federal seals glared under the lights.

"Asset forfeiture," Issac hissed. "As of this exact second, every brick of this house, every dollar in your accounts, and the clothes on your back belong to the United States Government."

He snapped his fingers. Two female agents stepped forward.

"Take the jewelry," Issac ordered.

The agents grabbed Annetta. One unclasped the diamond pendant from her neck. The other grabbed her left hand and yanked the diamond wedding band off her finger.

Annetta's breath hitched. Her thumb instinctively rubbed the pale, indented skin where the ring had been for six years.

She dropped the jewelry onto the silver tray. The diamonds clattered against the metal. She didn't look at them.

Annetta was wearing only a thin, wet silk shirt.The draft in the massive hall was freezing. Goosebumps erupted across Annetta's bare arms, but she locked her knees and stood perfectly straight. An invisible armor of pure defiance.

Cristina watched her daughter-in-law. The woman she had called a 'commoner' for years stood freezing, yet Cristina did not move a muscle to help her, her jaw set in a rigid line of shock and self-preservation. Annetta ignored the stinging cold. She stepped forward, reaching into the pile of confiscated items on the table, and pulled out a discarded, heavy wool scarf that belonged to one of the security guards. She wrapped it tightly around her own shivering shoulders. She looked at her mother-in-law. There was still a chasm of judgment in Cristina's eyes, but Annetta didn't care.

Issac scoffed. He pulled a red pen from his pocket and picked up the final exile manifest.

"The Crane bloodline is being relocated to the Appalachian exclusion zone," Issac read, dragging out the syllables. He looked at Annetta. "But you aren't blood, are you?"

He pressed the red pen to the paper and violently scribbled Annetta and Clara's names at the bottom of the list.

"Now you are."

"She has an ironclad prenuptial agreement," Cristina snapped. "Asset isolation. You cannot legally exile her."

"Article 4, Section B," Annetta stated coldly. "I want my lawyer."

Issac picked up the business card of Annetta's attorney from the table and tore it in half. He let the pieces fall to the floor.

"Under the National Security Act, your civil contracts are toilet paper," Issac whispered, leaning in close. "Unless, of course, you want to get on your knees and beg me for an exception."

Annetta stared into his dark, gloating eyes.

She gathered the saliva in her mouth, mixed with the blood from her cut cheek, and spat directly onto the toe of Issac's custom Italian leather shoe.