They Hung My Mom On A Tree, Save Her!” Little Girl Begged the Mafia Boss — What He Did Next…

Sanctuary at Blackwood Manor

Ila woke up to the smell of lavender and expensive leather.

For a moment she panicked, her hands thrashing out searching for the rough wood of the crate or the bite of the rope around her neck.

Instead, her fingers brushed against Egyptian cotton sheets that felt like cool water against her skin. She sat up gasping.

The room was massive, bigger than the entire apartment she and Molly had been hiding in for the last six months.

Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked a churning gray ocean crashing against jagged black rocks hundreds of feet below.

A fire crackled in a limestone hearth, casting long dancing shadows across the dark mahogany furniture.

“Molly,”

Ila croaked.

Her throat felt like it was filled with broken glass.

“She’s in the kitchen eating pancakes.”

Ila whipped her head around. Harrison Blackwood was sitting in a wingback chair in the corner of the room, reading a thick file.

He wasn’t wearing the suit anymore. He was dressed in dark charcoal slacks and a black cashmere sweater that hugged his broad shoulders.

He looked less like a corporate raider and more like a predator at rest.

“Where am I?”

Ila demanded, throwing the duvet off her legs.

She realized she was wearing a silk oversized shirt that wasn’t hers. She flushed, pulling the collar tight.

“Blackwood Manor,”

Harrison said, not looking up from the file.

“North of the city. You’ve been asleep for fourteen hours. The doctor treated your neck. You’re lucky. Another minute on that crate and your larynx would have been crushed.”

Ila touched her neck. It was wrapped in soft gauze.

The memory of the rope, the rain, and the laughter of the men crashed back into her mind.

“I need to see my daughter,”

she said, swinging her legs off the bed.

Her knees buckled immediately. Harrison was there before she hit the floor.

He moved with a speed that shouldn’t have been possible for a man of his size. He caught her by the waist, his grip firm but gentle.

“Easy,”

he murmured, his voice rumbling against her chest.

“You’re malnourished and in shock. Adrenaline was the only thing keeping you standing yesterday.”

Ila looked up at him. Up close, he was devastating.

Sharp jawline, faint stubble, and those cold calculating eyes that seemed to soften just a fraction when they looked at her.

It was dangerous. She knew men like this.

Her husband had worked for them. They were charming until they weren’t.

“Let go of me,”

she said, though she had no strength to push him away.

Harrison set her back on the edge of the bed but didn’t step back. He stayed in her personal space, dominating the room.

“We need to talk about Victor Krell,”

Harrison said, the warmth vanishing from his voice.

“My scouts tell me he’s tearing the city apart looking for you. He burned down your old apartment complex this morning just to send a message.”

Ila went cold.

“He burned it?”

“Nobody was inside,”

Harrison assured her.

“But he knows you’re gone. And he knows someone took you. He just doesn’t know it was me yet.”

Harrison walked to a side table and poured a glass of water, handing it to her.

“I need the ledger, Ila. I can’t protect you if I’m fighting blind. If Krell has dirty cops, I need to know who they are before they show up at my gate with a warrant.”

Ila took the water, her hands shaking.

“The ledger is—it’s insurance. If I give it to you, what stops you from throwing me out?”

Harrison placed a hand on the bed post, leaning in.

“My word and the fact that I don’t kill innocent women. If I wanted you dead, I would have left you on that tree.”

“My husband said the same thing about Krell,”

Ila shot back, her eyes flashing with sudden anger.

“He said Krell was a businessman, that he had a code. Then Krell cut his brake lines and I watched my husband drive off a bridge.”

Harrison’s expression tightened.

“I am not Krell.”

“Prove it,”

she challenged.

Before Harrison could respond, the heavy oak door creaked open. Molly peeked in, her face smeared with maple syrup.

She was wearing a brand new fluffy white robe that was five sizes too big for her.

“Mommy!”

she squealed, running across the room.

Ila dropped to her knees, ignoring the pain in her body, and scooped her daughter up.

She buried her face in Molly’s hair, smelling the syrup and the expensive shampoo someone had used to wash the mud out of her curls.

“Did you eat?”

Ila asked, checking Molly’s face for bruises.

“Mr. Rigs made pancakes,”

Molly beamed.

“And he let me watch cartoons on a TV big as a wall. And look,”

she held up a small stuffed black bear.

“The grumpy man gave me this.”

Ila looked up at Harrison.

“The grumpy man?”

Harrison looked uncomfortable, shifting his weight.

“Rigs found it in the storage. It was gathering dust.”

Ila saw the tag on the bear’s ear. It was brand new.

He had sent someone out to buy it.

“Thank you,”

she whispered, her guard lowering just an inch.

The Hunt for the Locket

“Rigs will watch her,”

Harrison said, stepping back into the professional role.

“You need to eat. Then we need to strategize. Krell isn’t going to stop. If he finds out you’re here, he will bring an army.”

“He won’t just bring an army,”

Ila said, standing up, holding Molly’s hand tight.

“He’ll bring the law. Half the SWAT team is on his payroll.”

“Then we need to be faster,”

Harrison said.

“Where is the book?”

Ila took a deep breath. She looked at Molly, then at the man who had saved them.

She had to trust someone. She had no cards left to play.

“It’s not a book,”

Ila said softly.

“It’s a microchip, and it’s inside a locket.”

“My mother’s locket?”

Harrison frowned.

“You aren’t wearing a locket.”

“I know,”

Ila said.

“I pawned it.”

Harrison stared at her.

“You pawned the most dangerous object in Seattle?”

“We were starving!”

Ila cried defensively.

“I needed money for food and a motel. I pawned it at a shop on Fourth and Pike, Goldie’s Pawn. I have the ticket in my shoe.”

Harrison ran a hand over his face, letting out a sharp exhale.

“Fourth and Pike. That’s downtown Central territory. Krell’s territory.”

“It’s just a locket,”

Ila said.

“The shop owner doesn’t know what’s inside. It looks like cheap costume jewelry.”

“Nothing stays hidden forever,”

Harrison said, walking to the closet and pulling out a change of clothes—tactical gear.

“If you pawned it three weeks ago, it might still be there, or it might have been sold.”

“It hasn’t been sold,”

Ila insisted.

“I checked the online listing yesterday before—before they found us. It’s still in the inventory.”

Harrison turned to her.

“Get dressed. There are clothes in the dressing room. We leave in twenty minutes.”

“I’m coming with you?”

Ila asked.

“You have the pawn ticket,”

Harrison said.

“And I’m not leaving you here alone. If Krell hits this house while I’m gone, I can’t guarantee your safety. You’re safer by my side.”

He paused, his eyes locking onto hers. The intensity in them made Ila’s breath hitch.

“Besides,”

Harrison added, his voice dropping,

“I don’t like letting you out of my sight.”

The rain had stopped, but the city was still slick and gray. The convoy of three black SUVs moved through the downtown traffic like sharks in a school of fish.

This time Harrison wasn’t taking chances. He had ten men with him, all heavily armed.

Ila sat next to Harrison in the back of the armored Escalade. She was wearing jeans, boots, and a heavy leather jacket Harrison had provided.

It was too big for her, smelling of gun oil and cologne. She felt strangely protected in it.

“Stay calm,”

Harrison said, noticing her leg bouncing nervously.

He placed his large warm hand on her knee. The contact sent a jolt of electricity through her.

She didn’t pull away.

“I’ve never been back there,”

she whispered.

“I pawned it.”

“We go in. We buy the locket. We leave,”

Harrison said.

“Rigs is scouting the perimeter now. If he sees anything suspicious, we abort.”

The radio crackled.

“Boss, we’re clear. Shop is open. Quiet.”

“Copy,”

Harrison said.

“Driver, pull up to the curb.”

The car stopped. Harrison got out first, scanning the street.

The area was gritty: pawn shops, liquor stores, and people huddled in doorways. It was a far cry from the luxury of the manor.

He offered a hand to Ila. She took it, stepping out onto the wet sidewalk.

He pulled her close, wrapping his arm around her waist, effectively shielding her body with his.

“Walk with me,”

he instructed.

“Don’t look at anyone. Just look at the door.”

They entered Goldie’s Pawn. A bell jingled overhead.

The shop smelled of stale cigarettes and old dust. The shelves were cluttered with musical instruments, power tools, and rows of jewelry cases.

An old man with thick glasses sat behind a bulletproof glass partition.

“Help you,”

he grunted, not looking up from his newspaper.

Ila stepped forward, sliding the crumpled pawn ticket under the slot.

“I’m here to redeem this. Item number 4092.”

The man took the ticket, adjusted his glasses, and shuffled to the back room. Harrison stood with his back to the counter, watching the street through the front window.

“Too quiet,”

he muttered.

“It’s a Tuesday morning,”

Ila whispered.

“No,”

Harrison said, his hand drifting toward the gun inside his jacket.

“The homeless guy outside just moved. He was limping on his left leg when we pulled up. Now he’s shifting weight to his right.”

The old man returned with a small velvet tray. On it sat a tarnished silver locket in the shape of a heart.

Ila’s heart leapt.

“That’s it.”

“That’ll be $200 plus interest. 250,”

the man said.

Harrison slapped $300 bills on the counter.

“Keep the change.”

Ila grabbed the locket. Her hands were shaking as she popped it open.

It was empty, just a picture of her and Molly.

“Wait,”

she whispered.

She used her fingernail to pry up the felt lining behind the photo. There, glinting under the fluorescent light, was a tiny black microchip no bigger than a grain of rice.

“Got it,”

she breathed.

“Let’s go,”

Harrison said, grabbing her arm.