Chapter 2 - THE SNAKE IN THE CASTLE
The realization hit me like a physical blow.
For three years, I believed the Moretti family had acted alone. I had wiped out their entire leadership in a bloody war that turned the streets of New York red. But if Elena had survived the initial crash—if she had reached the hospital alive—then the call informing me that she died on impact was a lie.
A lie told to me by Marcus.
I looked back down at Emma. She reached out her small hand and touched my hand, her fingers warm against my ice-cold skin.
"Don't be sad, big man," Emma murmured with an innocence that shattered my cold demeanor. "The bad men are sleepy now. Isabella’s legs are waking up."
I looked at Isabella. My ten-year-old daughter was staring at me, tears streaming down her face. "Daddy... I felt it. When Emma washed my feet with the herbs... I felt a warm tickle in my toes. I haven't felt anything in three years."
I pulled Isabella into a fierce embrace, holding her small body against my chest while my mind recalculated every loyal officer, every contract, and every security camera on this twenty-acre estate.
"Sophia," I said quietly, keeping my voice low. "Take Emma and go to the pool house. Lock the door from the inside. Do not open it for anyone except me. Do you understand?"
"Yes, Mr. Vance," Sophia nodded frantically, lifting Emma into her arms and hurrying toward the guest quarters.
I stood up, wiping the dirt from my trousers, and looked back toward the mansion. Marcus was no longer on the balcony.
I reached into my tailored jacket, thumbed the safety off the sleek silver 9mm pistol holster concealed beneath my arm, and walked steadily toward the heavy oak doors of my home.
Inside, the grand foyer was deathly quiet. The marble floors gleamed beneath the crystal chandeliers.
"Julian," a voice called out from the darkness of the library.
Marcus stepped into the doorway. He was fifty years old, broad-shouldered, with silver hair and a lifetime of military service written into the scars on his face. He held a glass of scotch in his left hand. His right hand was tucked casually inside his jacket pocket.
"You spent a long time out by the maple tree, boss," Marcus said, his tone light, but his eyes razor-sharp. "Is something wrong with the maid?"
"No," I replied, stopping ten feet away from him in the center of the foyer. "Nothing is wrong with the maid. But something is wrong with my memory, Marcus."
Marcus took a slow sip of his scotch. "Is that so?"
"Three years ago, when the Morettis ambushed Elena’s sedan under the elevated train, you were the one who called me from the hospital," I said, my voice dangerously calm. "You told me she died in the driver's seat. You told me there was no chance to say goodbye."
Marcus’s jaw tightened slightly. "That's what the paramedics reported."
"The paramedics didn't report that, Marcus," I said, stepping closer. "Elena made it to the emergency room. She was alive long enough to give a silver hummingbird charm to a triage nurse. And she told that nurse that my own security chief was working for the enemy."
Marcus didn't flinch. Slowly, the casual warmth evaporated from his face, replaced by a cold, calculating sneer.
"You always were too smart for your own good, Julian," Marcus said softly. "The Morettis didn't pay me to kill Elena. They paid me to make sure you didn't notice their supply lines shifting to the docks. Elena caught my men moving cargo through your warehouses three days before the ambush. She was going to tell you."
"So you set her up," I whispered, the rage inside me boiling into an inferno.
"I gave her a quick way out," Marcus shrugged. "And when she survived the crash, I finished it in the hospital ward before you arrived. It was business, Julian. You were getting soft. Spending all your time with your wife and little girl instead of expanding our territory."
Marcus pulled his hand from his coat, revealing a silenced pistol.
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"It's a shame," Marcus sneered. "I was going to let you live out your days in this quiet castle playing loving father. But now... I suppose Isabella will have to suffer another tragic loss."
Before he could raise the barrel, a loud, thunderous roar echoed through the foyer.
