Chapter 7 - Blood on the Marble StaircaseThe iron gates of the Vale estate hung off their hinges, groaning in the cold wind like broken teeth.
The grand entrance doors of the mansion were blown wide open. Splintered mahogany and shattered crystal littered the magnificent foyer where the crystal chandelier usually cast a warm, golden glow.
Dominic and Evelyn burst through the doorway weapons drawn.
The silence inside was heavier and more terrifying than gunfire.
"Viktor, sweep the west wing," Dominic ordered, motioning his head security chief who had followed them in a second vehicle. "I’ll take the nursery."
They didn't need to check the ground floor. Two junior guards lay motionless at the base of the marble staircase, eliminated with clean, professional precision. No struggle. Just instantaneous death.
Dominic sprinted up the stairs two at a time, his boots pounding against the carpet. Evelyn was right behind him, moving with the silent, lethal grace of a predator.
They reached the nursery door.
It was wide open.
The crib was empty.
The silk blankets lay tossed on the floor, still warm. A single drop of fresh blood stained the white lace pillowcase.
Dominic stopped dead in his tracks, his gun dropping to his side. The ruthless cartel boss—the man who controlled the shipping lanes of Chicago with an iron fist—felt the entire world collapse inward around him.
"They took him," Dominic whispered, his voice cracking with a rawness that shocked even him.
Evelyn walked past him into the center of the room. She didn't panic. She knelt beside the empty crib, her fingers brushing against a small piece of paper pinned to the wooden railing with a silver scalpel.
She pulled it off and stood up, handing it to Dominic.
Dominic unfolded the note. Written in crisp, elegant calligraphy were instructions that defied everything they knew:
If you want the boy—and the truth about the highway explosion that killed your brother—meet me at the old Chicago Observatory at midnight. Come alone. Bring the bride.
— M.
"M," Dominic growled, crushing the paper in his fist. "Mara."
"Not Mara," Evelyn corrected, her voice cold as glacial ice. She pointed to a signature watermark pressed into the stationery—a symbol Dominic recognized instantly.
The crest of the Hart family.
"My uncle didn't just arrange this marriage to end a war," Evelyn said, looking up at Dominic with a terrifying realization. "He arranged it to merge the syndicates, eliminate your brother, frame me for medical malpractice, and position an operative inside your house to steal the heir of the Vale empire."
May you like
Dominic turned to her, his eyes blazing with a dark, terrifying promise.
"Then let's go to a family reunion," Dominic said, cocking his weapon. "And let them see what happens when you wake a sleeping beast."
