Chapter 5 - THE MAID’S SECRETThe upper floors of the mansion were deathly quiet.
Nathan raced down the long, dimly lit hallway toward the servants' quarters at the back of the estate. His mind was a battlefield of rage, disbelief, and a profound, aching betrayal.
A plant? Lily? Claire?
He reached the staff quarters and slammed his palm against the door of Claire’s room. It was unlocked. It swung open with a creak.
The room was spotless. Too spotless.
Nathan wheeled himself inside. On the small wooden desk sat a single envelope, addressed in neat, elegant handwriting: To Nathan.
His heart hammered against his ribs like a trapped bird. He reached out, tore open the envelope, and unfolded the heavy parchment paper.
Nathan,
If you are reading this, Grant has broken, or you have found the locker.
Everything Grant told you about my identity is true. I am Frank Marcone’s niece. My husband wasn't an ordinary worker; he was one of the men killed in the crossfire of your war three years ago. The North Side sent me here to finish what the ambush started.
I was supposed to poison your medicine. I was supposed to watch you die slow and helpless in that chair, paying for the blood on your hands.
But I didn’t account for one thing.
I didn’t account for the way you looked at my daughter when she handed you a broken cookie. I didn't account for the fact that beneath the monster everyone in Chicago fears, there was a broken man who just wanted to feel human again.
By the time you read this, Lily and I are already gone. We took the back road out of the state. Don't look for us. Marcone’s men are already hunting us too, because I refused to finish the job.
Goodbye, Nathan. Thank you for giving my little girl a reason to smile.
— Claire.
Nathan dropped the letter. It fluttered down to the hardwood floor, landing beside a small, discarded crayon drawing of a stick-figure family holding hands.
For a long moment, the ruthless mob boss—the man who had built an empire on blood, fear, and absolute control—sat in the empty room and felt a tear slip down his cheek.
He had survived bullets. He had survived betrayal. He had survived the loss of his legs.
But this hurt worse.
Suddenly, the security radio clipped to his belt crackled to life with a burst of static and heavy gunfire.
"Boss! Boss, come in! We’re hit! The North Side crew just breached the front gates! Marcone’s men are coming through the courtyard with automatic weapons!"
Nathan’s eyes snapped up. The grief vanished, instantly incinerated by an overwhelming, lethal fury.
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They wanted his empire? They wanted his life?
They had picked the wrong day to wake the beast.
