Ashley slept peacefully, her son Tywin nestled on her chest. The tranquility was shattered by the shrill ringing of her phone. She carefully reached for it, trying not to disturb Tywin. Tyson, sensing her movement, gently took the phone from her trembling fingers and placed it against her ear, then carefully lifted Tywin and laid him in his crib.
"Am I speaking to Mrs. Hale?" a voice asked on the other end, cold and official.
Ashley's heart skipped a beat as a chill ran down her spine. Something in the man's tone hinted that this was no ordinary call.
"Yes," she replied, her voice groggy but sharpening with worry.
The voice continued, "Ma'am, you're speaking with the manager of the Heart Hospital in Europe. Do you know a man named Samuel O'Connor?"
Her breath caught. "Yes, that's my father. Why are you asking? Is something wrong with him?"
Tyson re-entered the room, concern etched on his face as he noticed Ashley's sudden tension.
The voice delivered the devastating blow: "I'm sorry, ma'am. He was in an accident earlier tonight. By the time he arrived at the hospital, it was too late. I'm sorry."
The line went dead.
Ashley's world shattered. She collapsed to her knees, a guttural scream tearing from her throat. Tyson rushed to her side, gathering her in his arms as her body shook with raw anguish.
Tom and Evangeline, Tyson's parents, burst into the room, alarm and confusion clear on their faces. Eva gently moved Tyson aside and wrapped Ashley in a warm, steady embrace.
"It's okay, baby," Eva murmured, brushing Ashley's hair back from her damp forehead. "Whatever it is you heard, we've got you. I've got you. We're family. Don't cry yourself to pieces."
But Eva's soothing words, meant to heal, only seemed to intensify Ashley's pain. Her sobs came harder, harsh hiccuping sounds wracking her small frame as she wept uncontrollably.
An hour crawled by before Ashley's cries began to soften into exhausted whimpers. Eva stayed with her, guiding her into bed and cradling her hand in her lap as Ashley drifted into an uneasy, broken sleep.
Tyson remained nearby, pacing the floor with silent worry, while Tom and Eva sat together, waiting patiently for Ashley to find the strength to speak.
Morning came, pale and reluctant. Ashley stirred, her face pale, her eyes swollen from only two hours of restless sleep. Her heart still felt like a heavy stone in her chest.
With Eva's gentle support, Ashley made her way downstairs, where the family waited in hushed concern. She stood before them, her voice cracking as she forced herself to speak.
"My father," she said, tears spilling anew, "he's gone."
Tyson immediately pulled her into his arms, shielding her from the pain of the world as she broke down once more, her small frame trembling against his chest.
Meanwhile, miles away, Tesmee rose before dawn, seeking solace in her morning run. The rhythmic pounding of her feet against the pavement steadied her thoughts, each stride pushing away the weight of the world.
Returning home, she settled outside among the trees, watching as the sky transformed into a kaleidoscope of colors with the rising sun. The warm, quiet glow wrapped around her, calming her spirit.
After a refreshing swim and a quick shower, she dressed simply: a sleek black dress and clean sneakers. She sank into the couch, looking forward to a day free from the complications of the underworld — a day of music, movies, and quiet pondering.
But her solitude was soon interrupted by the buzzing of her phone.
She picked up without hiding her irritation. "I'm trying to relax, what's up?"
Lorenzo's voice came low and serious. "Sam is dead."
Tesmee's eyebrows lifted slightly. "What? How? What happened to him?" she asked, her words coming fast, sharp with curiosity.
"He was shot down," Lorenzo answered, flatly. "I'm guessing it was one of the Russian mafias haunting him. Most likely the Volkov Mafia."
Tesmee's grip on the phone tightened. Her mind began racing. "I've heard of them once or twice," she said, voice even. "But I'm not too familiar with their operations."
Lorenzo's voice turned dry, grim. "A part of me says Hale's wrath is preferable to theirs. The Volkovs are ruthless — anything that crosses them ends up six feet under."
Tesmee was quiet for a beat, then answered, voice flat and thoughtful. "I suppose I'm understanding that more clearly now."
A calculating glint sparked in her steel-grey eyes. "Tyson will definitely seek revenge for his wife's loss. I'll just have to wait and see... Maybe the Volkovs will do my job for me — tear Tyson down before I have to."
Lorenzo, still on the line, caught the shift in her tone. "Why the sudden change?"
Tesmee leaned back against the couch, her voice now low and concerned. "If the Volkovs defeat Tyson, they'll want to dominate this territory. They'll swallow everything — and then they'll come after me."
Lorenzo exhaled slowly. "True. That's true. We'll wait and see, then."
"Time will tell," Tesmee said, her words edged with cold inevitability.
The call ended.
She placed the phone aside and tucked the troubling news deep into the corners of her mind, far from the peaceful day she had promised herself. She wrapped a lightweight blanket around her and let herself drift into sleep on the couch, leaving the worries of the outside world to circle beyond her reach.