Chapter 3 - The East Wing
Moving into the east wing felt less like a promotion and more like stepping into a gilded trap. The room Jude assigned to us was three times the size of our entire apartment in downtown Providence. A massive canopy bed draped in cream silk dominated the space, flanked by floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out over the dark, sprawling forests surrounding the estate.
Brinley was thrilled. She spent the first hour jumping on the soft mattress, clutching her teddy bear, completely unaware of the armed sentries patrolling the perimeter below her window.
"Mommy, look!" she cheered, pointing to a sprawling dollhouse set up in the corner of the room, complete with tiny wooden furniture and miniature porcelain dolls. "The sad man gave me toys!"
I sat on the edge of the plush armchair, watching her with a heavy heart. "Brinley... his name is Mr. Mercer. And we have to be very quiet and very good while we stay here, okay?"
"He’s not sad anymore," Brinley announced firmly, arranging a doll on a tiny wooden chair. "When I touched his cheek, his eyes stopped looking like dark water."
I closed my eyes, rubbing my temples. Children saw the world through such dangerously simple lenses. She didn't see the blood on his hands, the bodies buried under his authority, or the empire of crime he commanded. She just saw a man with a scar who let her eat strawberry biscuits in his kitchen.
A soft knock at the door startled me.
I stood up instantly, stepping between the door and Brinley. "Come in."
The door opened, and Mrs. Gable walked in, carrying a large silver tray laden with roast chicken, steamed vegetables, and a jug of fresh apple juice. The older woman wore a crisp grey dress, her gray hair pinned neatly at the nape of her neck.
"Dinner for the young lady and yourself, my dear," Mrs. Gable said warmly, setting the tray on the round mahogany dining table near the window.
"Thank you, Mrs. Gable," I said cautiously. "You really didn't have to bring it up yourself."
Mrs. Gable smiled gently, her eyes crinkling at the corners. "Mr. Mercer requested that I handle your meals personally. He doesn't want the regular kitchen staff bothering you." She turned her gaze to Brinley, who was already trotting over to inspect the apple juice. "She’s a bright little spirit, Clara. This house hasn't heard the sound of a child's laughter in over fifteen years."
I frowned slightly, curiosity nipping at my caution. "Fifteen years?"
Mrs. Gable’s smile faltered, a shade of solemnity crossing her features. "Jude’s younger sister, Sophia. She was five when the rival families tried to take out Jude’s father. They bombed the primary residence in Newport." She paused, sweeping a nonexistent piece of dust from the tablecloth. "Sophia didn't survive. Jude was sixteen. That was the day he got the scar on his face—trying to pull her out of the burning nursery."
A cold lump formed in my throat. The image of Jude holding Brinley on his lap flickered through my mind, suddenly painted in a terrible, heartbreaking light. The way his arm had tightened around her. The way his breath had hitched when she touched his cheek.
He hadn't seen an intruder in his study. He had seen a little girl the same age his sister had been when his world caught fire.
"I didn't know," I murmured softly.
May you like
"No one does," Mrs. Gable said, heading back toward the door. "Jude doesn't allow people to talk about it. But remember this, Clara... a man who fights to protect a child's memory is not a man who will ever let harm come to yours. Eat your dinner. You both need your strength."
As the door closed, I stared at the silver tray, the reality of Jude Mercer growing more complex with every passing hour. He was a killer, a mob boss, and a ruthless negotiator. But beneath the armor of black suits and loaded guns, he was a brother who had failed to save his sister—and a man who was currently standing between my daughter and the monsters hunting us.
