Chapter 2 - Cake and Cold SteelThe china plates clattered softly as Thomas set them down. The old guard’s hands, usually steady enough to clear a room with a 9mm, trembled slightly as he placed a heavy silver fork beside six-year-old Laith.
Neta sat in the chair to Gideon’s left, her yellow raincoat draped over the high carved back. Up close, without the shadow of the chandelier hiding her, she looked even more worn. Dark circles bruised the skin beneath her brown eyes, but there was an unyielding strength in the set of her jaw.
Laith didn't care about atmosphere. He was happily devouring a massive slice of dark chocolate cake, his mouth smeared with orange-infused ganache.
"This is the best cake ever," Laith announced, chewing enthusiastically. "Mom made it. She had to fix the oven with a butter knife this morning because it kept making a loud pop noise."
"Laith, don't talk with your mouth full," Neta murmured, though her hand gently wiped a bit of frosting from his chin with a napkin. She looked at Gideon, who had barely touched his slice. "You don't have to eat it if you don't want to, Mr. Croft."
"It's fine," Gideon said. He took a small bite. The richness of the chocolate and the sharp kick of the espresso liqueur exploded across his palate. It was exquisite—far superior to anything his grand estate’s former private chef had ever produced. "Your work is impressive, Miss Campbell."
"It keeps the lights on," she said simply. "Usually."
"Your husband doesn't assist with the business?" Gideon asked, his eyes sharp as he studied her hands. No ring. Only faint calluses from kneading dough and handling heavy baking sheets.
"Ex-husband," Neta corrected, her voice tightening slightly. "And no. He assists by promising child support payments that never arrive and threatening to take me to court if I don't let him borrow my car."
Gideon felt a strange, cold flick of irritation in his chest. A man who abandoned his child and harassed the mother was a coward. In his former life, men like that were handled with a single phone call to a dock foreman.
"He sounds like a liability," Gideon said calmly.
Neta let out a dry, humorless laugh. "He's just an asshole, Mr. Croft. The world is full of them. Some of them just happen to have my old last name."
Before Gideon could respond, a sharp, metallic ping echoed from Thomas’s pocket.
The old butler pulled out a encrypted tactical radio. He looked at the tiny digital screen, and his face turned the color of ash.
"Sir," Thomas said, his voice dropping to an urgent whisper as he stepped close to Gideon's ear. "Sensors at the south perimeter fence just went dark. Three vehicles without headlights just turned into the driveway."
Gideon didn't flinch. The hand resting on his lap slipped smoothly into his suit jacket, his fingers wrapping around the grip of the SIG Sauer.
"Declan," Gideon said softly. It wasn't a question.
"It has to be," Thomas muttered. "He knew you'd be alone tonight. He waited until the storm cleared the street traffic."
Neta sensed the shift in the room immediately. The air suddenly felt thin, cold, and razor-sharp. She reached out, grabbing Laith’s arm and pulling him closer to her side.
"What's wrong?" she asked, her voice rising in panic. "Mr. Croft, what is it?"
Gideon turned his wheelchair to face her. His expression was no longer that of a bitter, retired invalid. The cold, lethal authority that had ruled Chicago’s underworld for a decade burned back to life in his dark eyes.
"Thomas," Gideon commanded quietly. "Take Miss Campbell and her son to the wine cellar through the kitchen pantry. The door is reinforced steel. Lock it from the inside."
"No!" Neta gasped, standing up and pulling Laith behind her. "We're leaving! We'll just take my car—"
"Your car has one headlight and a failing alternator, Miss Campbell," Gideon interrupted, his voice dropping into a register that allowed no argument. "You won't make it to the main gate before they block the driveway. If you step outside now, you will be caught in the crossfire."
Heavy tires crunched on the gravel courtyard outside. The sound of heavy boot heels approached the front portico.
"Thomas! Now!" Gideon ordered.
Thomas grabbed Neta’s arm—not roughly, but with an urgency that left no room for resistance. "Move, ma'am. Fast."
"Mommy?" Laith whimpered, picking up on the sudden terror.
May you like
"It's okay, Bug. It's okay," Neta lied, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird as Thomas hauled them toward the kitchen service doors. She looked back over her shoulder just before the heavy oak pantry door swung shut.
Gideon Croft was sitting alone at the head of the long table, the SIG Sauer resting on the white tablecloth in front of him, his face calm, terrifying, and completely prepared to die.
