Chapter 3 - The Dead Won't Stay BuriedThe cold steel of the gun barrel against her temple finally broke the last remnants of Margaret's iron facade.
She didn't scream. She didn't beg. She simply stared at me with eyes that mirrored my own ruthless bloodline.
"If you pull that trigger, Vance, you'll never find out the truth," Margaret whispered hoarsely. "You think I killed her? You think I put a bullet in your precious wife's head?"
My finger hovered over the trigger, trembling with adrenaline. "You disposed of her when she became an inconvenience. Just like you're trying to dispose of these little girls."
"I didn't kill her," Margaret hissed, her voice laced with genuine frustration. "When Helen helped her escape a year ago, they went off the grid completely. My operatives lost their trail six months ago. I haven't been able to find Claire either!"
I stared deep into her eyes, searching for a flicker of deceit. For all her cruelty, Margaret had never been a coward, and she had never lied to me about major business matters. If she didn't know where Claire was, it meant my wife had successfully hidden from both the mafia and the matriarch.
Slowly, I lowered the gun, clicking the safety back on and tucking it into my holster.
Margaret stumbled back, adjusting her blazer with shaking hands, trying to reclaim a shred of dignity.
I turned my attention back to the two little girls.
Ivy was still clutching the silver keepsake box to her chest like a shield, her wide, expressive eyes staring up at me with a mixture of fear and profound trust. Skye was holding onto Ivy’s dress, shivering slightly in the drafty room.
“Take the girls to their mafia father before Margaret finds them.”
The note made chilling sense now. Claire knew Margaret was hunting them. She knew that if she couldn't survive, the only place safe from Margaret's reach was right here—in the lion's den, under the protection of the most feared mafia boss in the country. Claire had gambled everything on the hope that I would look into my daughters' eyes and see the truth before my mother could eliminate them.
"Ethan," I said, not even bothering to look down at my brother as he picked himself up off the floor.
"W-what?" Ethan muttered, wiping blood from his lip.
"Get out of my house. All of you."
"Vance, you can't be serious," Margaret protested, her voice rising in panic. "You're going to keep them? You're going to raise the spawn of that defiance under your roof? The Commission will eat you alive if they find out you have heirs! It makes you vulnerable!"
"Let them try," I turned around, my eyes flashing with a dark, predatory light. "Let every single capo, rival boss, and traitor in the syndicate come looking for my blood. I built this empire with my bare hands to protect what's mine. And starting today, nobody touches my daughters."
Margaret’s face paled further. She realized that the son she thought she had molded into her personal weapon had officially broken away from her control.
"You'll regret this, Vance," Margaret spat as she turned toward the grand double doors, signaling for Ethan and Lauren to follow. "You're inviting your own destruction."
"Exit, Mother," I replied coldly. "And don't ever cross my threshold again. If you breathe near my daughters, I won't just strip your assets—I'll erase you from family history entirely."
Without another word, the three of them hurried out of the house, slamming the heavy oak doors behind them.
The estate fell silent again, save for the soft ticking of the grandfather clock in the hallway.
I exhaled a long, shuddering breath, the adrenaline slowly draining from my system, leaving behind a cold, calculated determination. I walked back over to the twins, kneeling down until I was at eye level with them.
Ivy looked down at the silver box, then up at me.
"Are the bad people gone?" she whispered.
My heart broke a little more, but I forced a reassuring, gentle smile onto my face—the first genuine smile I had worn in two years.
"They're gone, sweethearts," I said softly, reaching out to gently brush a strand of tangled hair from Ivy's cheek. "And they're never coming back. I promise you that."
I stood up and extended my hand.
May you like
"Come on. Let's get you cleaned up, and then you can tell me all about your mommy."
Ivy hesitated for a second, then placed her small, warm hand inside my large, calloused palm. Skye grabbed Ivy's other hand, and together, the three of us walked out of the living room, ready to face whatever war my family—and my enemies—were about to bring to my doorstep.
