Chapter 11 - The Ghost from the Past
The golden autumn afternoon in the Blackwood gardens was shattered by the sharp, jarring ring of Marcus’s satellite phone.
I watched from the terrace as Marcus pulled the device from his tailored suit jacket, his easy expression instantly hardening into a mask of stone. He listened intently for less than ten seconds, muttered a clipped acknowledgment, and ended the call. Instead of returning to his paperwork, he marched straight toward the terrace with a purposeful, heavy stride.
Silas had set Chloe down gently on the grass, handing her a basket to collect fallen leaves, before turning to meet Marcus halfway.
"Talk to me," Silas commanded, his voice dropping into that dark, dangerous register that always signaled trouble.
"That was our scout in South Jersey," Marcus reported, his eyes flicking briefly toward me before returning to his boss. "The feds just released a high-ranking lieutenant from Julian’s old crew. A man named Dominic Vance. No relation to me," he added hastily.
Silas narrowed his eyes. "Dominic? I thought he was rotting in a federal penitentiary for racketeering."
"He cut a deal," Marcus explained grimly. "Turned state's evidence on a few low-level traffickers, and the prosecutor shaved five years off his sentence. He walked out this morning. And word on the street is, he’s looking to rebuild what Julian left behind."
A heavy, suffocating silence settled over the terrace. The peace we had fought so hard to secure over the past month felt suddenly fragile, like a house of cards built over a fault line.
Silas didn't panic. He simply exhaled slowly, adjusting the cuffs of his dark shirt with cold, methodical precision. "Dominic was always a parasite. He lacks Julian's ambition, but he makes up for it with sheer, reckless stupidity. If he thinks he can waltz into my city and pick up the scraps, he's gravely mistaken."
"What do you want me to do, Boss?" Marcus asked, his hand drifting instinctively toward the holster beneath his jacket. "We can hit his safehouse before he even sets up communications. Wipe him out before he becomes a real problem."
"No," Silas replied, shaking his head slowly. "A silent execution only invites more paranoia among the smaller crews. I want to send a message. A very public, unmistakable message that the throne isn't vacant, and the king isn't sharing."
I gripped the edge of the stone balustrade, my knuckles turning white. The gentle domesticity we had built over the last few weeks felt like a fading dream, instantly swallowed back up by the violent, unforgiving underworld Silas commanded.
Silas turned his head, his dark eyes locking onto mine across the terrace. Without a word to Marcus, he walked over to where I stood, his footsteps measured and heavy.
"Elena," Silas said softly, stopping just a few feet away. "Take Chloe inside. Go up to the master suite and stay there with the security detail."
"Silas," I protested, my voice trembling slightly. "I'm not a prisoner. I can handle knowing what's happening."
"This isn't about imprisonment," Silas interrupted, his voice laced with an intensity that brooked no argument. "This is about keeping you out of the crossfire. Dominic Vance is a desperate, cornered animal. Animals like that don't fight fair. They strike at whatever they think will hurt you the most."
"And what does he think will hurt you?" I asked, a cold dread pooling in my stomach.
May you like
Silas didn't answer immediately. He looked past me toward Chloe, who was happily waving a red maple leaf in the air, completely oblivious to the war drums beating in the city around us.
"Everything," Silas whispered, his jaw clenching. "He'll come for everything I've built. And anyone I care about."
