Chapter 4 - The Midnight Call
At 2:15 AM, the landline telephone on the nightstand beside the canopy bed rang.
The sound shattered the quiet night like a gun discharge. I sat up instantly, my heart racing, my eyes darting to Brinley, who was fast asleep beneath the heavy duvet, her breathing soft and rhythmic.
I swung my legs out of bed and approached the telephone, my hand hovering over the receiver. No one was supposed to call this room. The internal estate extension was reserved strictly for security protocols.
I picked up the phone, pressing it to my ear. "Hello?"
Silence stretched over the line for three long seconds, followed by the wet, heavy sound of raspy breathing.
"Clara?"
My blood ran cold. The voice was unmistakable—slurred, arrogant, and laced with the familiar edge of cheap bourbon.
"Tristan," I hissed, my knuckles turning white around the plastic receiver. "Where are you?!"
"Keep your voice down!" Tristan snapped over the line, background noise sounding like wind rushing past a car window. "Listen to me, Clara. Are you okay? Is the kid okay?"
"Are we okay?!" I echoed, rage boiling over, my voice shaking with raw venom. "You abandoned us! You sold our lives to loan sharks! You left Brinley and me to be taken by Jude Mercer! How dare you ask if we're okay?!"
"I did what I had to do!" Tristan growled defensively. "I got a tip on a score, Clara! Fifty million dollars worth of leverage! I took Mercer’s ledger! Once I trade it back to the Boston families, we’re set for life! We can move to Florida, buy a house on the beach—"
"You stole from Jude Mercer!" I cut him off, tears of pure anger burning my eyes. "He knows everything, Tristan! He knows you didn't act alone! He has this entire estate on lockdown, and he is hunting you!"
Tristan let out a nervous, breathless laugh. "He won't touch me while I have his ledger. And he won't touch you because he knows I’ll burn the book if you or Brinley get a scratch on you. Listen to me carefully... tomorrow night at midnight, Mercer is going to get a call from the Boston syndicate. They’re setting up a trade at the old ironworks in Pawtucket. I need you to find out how many men Mercer is bringing with him."
I stared at the wall, sickened by the realization of what he was asking. "You want me to spy for you?"
"I want you to save our family!" Tristan yelled. "Get me the headcount, Clara! Or so help me God, I’ll leave you in that house to take the fall when Boston burns it to the ground!"
Before I could answer, a hand reached over my shoulder and took the telephone receiver directly out of my grip.
I spun around, letting out a sharp gasp.
Jude stood behind me in the dim light of the bedroom. He wore a dark, unbuttoned shirt and black trousers, his hair slightly rumpled, his eyes glowing like embers in the dark.
He brought the telephone to his ear.
"Tristan," Jude said softly, his voice deadlier than a drawn blade.
The line went dead silent. I could hear Tristan’s sharp intake of breath over the speaker.
"M-Mercer..." Tristan stammered, his bravado instantly evaporating into pure terror.
"You have twenty-four hours to bring my ledger back to the front gate of my estate," Jude said calmly, staring directly into my eyes as he spoke to my husband. "If you do not, I will personally hunt down every member of your family in Massachusetts, starting with the uncle who hid you in South Boston yesterday."
"You... you can't do that!" Tristan stammered. "I have the Boston families behind me!"
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"Boston can't protect you from a bullet through your car windshield at sixty miles an hour, Tristan," Jude replied coldly. "Twenty-four hours. Or Clara becomes a widow, and I become your daughter’s legal guardian. Choose carefully."
Jude slammed the receiver back onto the cradle, ending the call.
