Rising From Exile: The Widow's Comeback

The bloody saliva hit the polished black leather with a wet smack.

The entire room went dead silent. The federal agents shifted uncomfortably. Milo's hand twitched toward his holster.

Issac looked down at his shoe. The skin around his eyes pulled tight. His face flushed a dark, violent red. He raised his hand, his palm open, preparing to strike Annetta with everything he had.

Before his hand could fall, the wail of military sirens shattered the silence outside.

Tires screeched on the wet gravel. The heavy oak doors of the manor were shoved open. Four Army officers in full dress greens marched into the hall.

The lead captain held up a Department of Defense clipboard, stepping directly between Issac and Annetta.

"Mr. Rocha," the Captain said, his voice flat and bureaucratic. "We are here to transfer the remains."

Behind the officers, four enlisted soldiers carried a heavy, black military body bag by its nylon handles. The thick rubber dragged slightly against the marble floor, making a sickening squeak.

Cristina's knees gave out. She collapsed onto the sofa, pressing both hands over her mouth to stifle a guttural, agonizing wail.

Annetta stopped breathing. Her eyes locked onto the white serial numbers stenciled on the side of the black bag. Her fingernails dug into her palms so hard the skin broke again.

Issac lowered his hand. He smoothed the lapels of his suit, a cruel smile returning to his lips.

"Set it down," Issac ordered the soldiers. "As the lead investigator, I need to confirm the identity of the traitor."

The soldiers hesitated, looking at the Captain. The Captain gave a stiff nod. They lowered the bag to the floor.

Issac walked over to the body bag. He grabbed the heavy metal zipper and yanked it down to the chest level.

The stench hit the room instantly. It was a suffocating, putrid wave of charred meat, melted synthetic fabric, and sharp formaldehyde.

Cristina gagged and turned her head away, her body shaking violently.

Annetta's stomach violently rebelled. Acid burned the back of her throat. But she forced her eyes open. She stared down into the bag.

The body was a blackened, carbonized husk. The facial features were completely melted away.

Issac reached out with his leather-gloved hand. He tapped the charred shoulder of the corpse.

"Look at the great Delta Force Commander now," Issac mocked, his voice echoing in the silent hall. "Looks like a piece of overcooked steak."

The words snapped the tether holding Annetta's sanity.

She shoved past the federal agents. She slammed her shoulder into Issac's chest, knocking him off balance. She threw herself over the body bag, grabbing the zipper and violently pulling it shut.

She turned on her knees, looking up at Issac with eyes full of pure, unadulterated hatred.

"Show some respect," Annetta hissed, her voice vibrating with rage. "He died in uniform."

Issac stumbled back, recovering his balance. His eyes darkened. He stepped close to Annetta, leaning down until his mouth was inches from her ear.

"I can take your name off the list, Annetta," Issac whispered, his voice a slick, oily threat. "You and the brat. I have a penthouse in Georgetown. You can stay there. Waiting for me. It would be... poetic."

He reached out, his gloved finger tracing the line of her jaw.

A wave of pure nausea crashed over Annetta.

She didn't speak. She reached to the collar of her blouse, her fingers closing around the sharp, decorative silver brooch pinned to the fabric. She ripped it off.

With a vicious, upward thrust, Annetta drove the two-inch steel pin of the brooch directly into the back of Issac's hand.

Issac let out a high-pitched scream. He yanked his hand back. The brooch stayed embedded in his flesh. Thick, dark blood welled up around the metal, dripping onto the marble floor.

"Bitch!" Issac roared.

Milo and two agents tackled Annetta. They slammed her face-first into the cold marble. A heavy knee dropped onto her spine, driving the air from her lungs. Her cheek pressed against the freezing stone.Clara stood aside, too terrified to even scream.

She couldn't breathe, but she smiled. A cold, terrifying smile.

"A Crane woman," Annetta gasped out, her voice carrying across the room, "would rather die in the snow than spread her legs for a coward."

The Army Captain looked at Annetta. A flicker of deep, undeniable respect crossed his rigid features.

Cristina turned her head and glared at Issac, her pride as the matriarch finally overriding her shock. "You dare sanction physical violence in my home, Rocha?" Cristina said, her voice resonating with the cold, bureaucratic power of a former Senator's wife. "Do not think you are untouchable. If you turn this house into a slaughterhouse, I will spend my last breath ensuring tomorrow's Congressional hearing skins you alive for gross abuse of federal authority."

Issac clutched his bleeding hand. He looked at the Army officers watching him. He knew he couldn't execute them here.

"Get them out of my sight," Issac spat. "Take them to the federal holding cells. Put them on the first transport to the mountains tomorrow."

The agents hauled Annetta off the floor. She leaned heavily against Cristina. Together, the two women took the little girl turned their backs on Issac Rocha and walked out of the manor, their heads held high.