Chapter 3 - Shadows at the GateBy 7:00 PM, the grand dining room felt like a gilded cage.
The mahogany table could easily have seated twenty people, but tonight it held only three settings. Maya was currently chattering a mile a minute, swinging her legs against a chair upholstered in crushed velvet, regaling Cade with a wildly embellished story about her third-grade science teacher and a runaway hamster.
Cade listened. Not with the patronizing half-attention adults usually gave children, but with absolute, unflinching focus. He cut Maya’s roasted chicken into bite-sized squares, handed her a glass of milk without being asked, and actually chuckled—a deep, rich sound—when she demonstrated how the hamster had escaped down the teacher's trousers.
Nora sat at the opposite end of the table, nursing a glass of sparkling water, watching them. The surreal nature of her life pressed against her temples like a dull iron band. Twenty-four hours ago, she was scrubbing grease off greasy Formica counters and wondering if she’d have to sleep in her car. Now, she was eating pheasant under a crystal chandelier while a man the FBI suspected of racketeering played napkin origami with her nine-year-old sister.
Clang.
The sound of shattering glass echoed from the front courtyard, followed by the sharp bark of a guard's voice outside the floor-to-ceiling windows.
Cade didn't flinch. His hand paused mid-air, a piece of napkin folded into the shape of a swan resting between his fingers.
In less than three seconds, the dining room doors swung open soundlessly. Two men in tactical vests stepped inside, their movements fluid and practiced.
"Perimeter breach at the west gate, boss," the lead guard said, his eyes scanning the room. "A Molotov cocktail tossed from a passing sedan. Extinguished before impact. No structural damage."
Maya stopped swinging her legs, her eyes growing wide. "Was that... was that a bomb?"
Cade slowly set the paper swan down on the table. He picked up his linen napkin, wiped his fingers with agonizing slowness, and finally looked up. His face had gone entirely blank—the mask of the mob boss the newspapers whispered about. The warmth he had shown Maya vanished, replaced by an arctic, lethal stillness.
"Mrs. Higgins," Cade said smoothly. "Take Maya to the panic room behind the library. Show her the television monitor with the cartoons. Stay there until I unlock the door."
"Cade—" Nora started, her chair scraping sharply against the hardwood.
"Stay," he commanded, his voice brooking zero argument. He stood up, towering over the table. He looked at Maya, his expression softening by a microscopic fraction. "It’s just a firecracker, squirt. Some local kids playing a prank. Go with Mrs. Higgins. I’ll be right back."
As Mrs. Higgins hurried Maya out through a side service door, Cade walked toward the main foyer.
Nora didn't listen to him. She pushed her chair back and ran after him, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird.
"What is happening?" she demanded, catching up to him near the grand staircase where a private elevator led down to the subterranean levels. "Who threw that? Was it Miriam's lawyer? Was it Owen?"
Cade stopped and turned around. His hand was already sliding into his jacket pocket, wrapping around the grip of a heavy, black firearm she hadn't noticed he carried.
"It wasn't Miriam," Cade said coldly. "And it certainly wasn't some pathetic mechanic. That was a message from the Outfit’s board of directors. They don't like independent contractors shaking up the power structure."
"Because of me?" Nora whispered, horror washing over her. "Because you married a waitress?"
"Because I married anyone without their permission," Cade corrected, stepping closer. He reached out, his scarred fingers gently brushing a stray lock of auburn hair away from her damp forehead. The contrast between the deadly weapon in his pocket and the tenderness of his touch was dizzying. "They thought I was vulnerable. They thought bringing a civilian into my home would give them a lever."
"And will it?" Nora asked, her voice trembling. "Will I be the lever?"
May you like
Cade’s jaw tightened. He leaned down until his lips hovered inches from her ear, his breath hot against her skin.
"They can try to burn this house to the ground, Nora," he whispered, his voice dark as midnight. "But the moment anyone lays a finger on you or your sister, I will burn Chicago to ash to get you back."
