Chapter 2 - The Price of Protection
The room fell into an uneasy quiet. The weight of Jude's words hung in the air, shifting the reality I had lived in for the past three weeks. I had spent twenty-one days viewing Jude Mercer as my warden, a ruthless king of the underworld who kept me enslaved to pay off a deadbeat gambler's mistakes. Now, the ground was shifting beneath my feet.
"What did he steal?" I whispered, hugging Brinley tighter against me.
Jude didn't answer immediately. He walked around the mahogany desk, picking up the black gun and sliding it effortlessly into the leather holster beneath his jacket. The movement was fluid, practiced, and deeply unsettling.
"Reggie," Jude commanded without looking up. "Take Brinley down to the kitchen. Tell Mrs. Gable to give her warm milk and those strawberry biscuits she bakes."
Panic flared in my chest again. "No! She stays with me!"
Jude raised a hand to cut me off. "Reggie will stand outside the kitchen door. Mrs. Gable has been with my family for thirty years, Clara. She won't harm your daughter. You and I need to have a conversation that an eight-year-old shouldn't hear, let alone a three-year-old."
I looked down at Brinley. She was yawning, her eyes heavy, still clutching her one-eyed teddy bear. She looked up at me with absolute trust. I knew I couldn't run. I knew there were fifty armed men on this property. If Jude wanted us dead, we would already be buried in the woods behind the estate.
"Go with Mr. Reggie, baby," I whispered, kneeling down to kiss her cheek. "Mommy will be right down."
"Will I get a biscuit?" Brinley asked, rubbing her eyes.
"Yes, sweetheart. Get a biscuit."
Reggie stepped forward, his cold demeanor softening just a fraction as he offered his large, calloused hand to my daughter. Brinley took it without hesitation, her tiny fingers wrapping around his thumb as she walked out of the study, her little sneakers squeaking against the polished floorboards.
Once the door clicked shut, Jude leaned against the front of his desk, crossing his arms over his chest.
"Tristan stole a ledger," Jude said plainly. "A ledger that contains the names of every judge, police chief, and politician in Rhode Island who receives a payout from my family. If that ledger reaches the Federal Bureau of Investigation, my entire organization crumbles within forty-eight hours."
My mind whirled. Tristan was a small-time card sharp, a man who cried when his sports bets failed and drank away his paycheck at local bars. How had he managed to breach the inner sanctum of the most dangerous man in the state?
"He couldn't have taken that on his own," I said, shaking my head. "Tristan is stupid, Mr. Mercer. He’s impulsive and foolish, but he’s not a mastermind. He didn't even know how to reset our home Wi-Fi."
"I know," Jude replied grimly. "He had help from inside this house. Someone gave him the key code to my vault. Someone who knew I was out of the country last month. Tristan was just the bagman sent in to retrieve it."
"Then why keep me here?" I demanded, anger finally piercing through my fear. "If you know he worked for someone else, why trap me and my daughter in this gilded cage?!"
"Because Tristan loves you," Jude said, his voice dropping into a dangerous key.
I let out a harsh, bitter laugh. "He left us! He left his three-year-old daughter to face loan sharks! He doesn't love anyone but himself!"
"He left you here because he thought I wouldn't touch you," Jude countered, taking a step closer to me. The scent of cedarwood and faint gunpowder washed over me. "He thought if he dumped you on my doorstep as collateral, I would keep you locked up as a bargaining chip. He expects me to trade you for the ledger when he makes his demand."
I stared at Jude, the horror of his words settling into my bones. Tristan hadn't just abandoned us. He had used us as human shields. He had set us up as bait in a game played by predators.
"He was wrong," I whispered, my voice breaking. "He doesn't care if we live or die."
"Maybe," Jude said, standing directly in front of me now. He reached out, his long fingers stopping just short of touching my arm, as if remembering himself. "But I care about what happens in my house, Clara. No one uses my estate as a holding cell for leverage. Starting tomorrow, you aren't hiding in the servant quarters."
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"What are you doing?"
"You're moving into the east wing," Jude stated flatly. "You and Brinley. If my enemies think you are under my personal protection, they won't dare make a move on this house. And when Tristan finally calls to negotiate, he won't be dealing with a desperate mother. He’ll be dealing with me."
