Chapter 2
The drive back to the Moretti estate was bathed in the harsh, flashing red hue of emergency lights cutting through the blinding blizzard.
By the time my armored SUV pulled through the wrought-iron gates of the estate, the property looked like a war zone. Four dark sedans belonging to the Vandermark security team were pinned against the stone wall by my heavy tactical trucks. Gideon stood in the middle of the snow-covered driveway, his long coat heavy with white powder, a smoking sidearm held casually at his side.
I stepped out of the vehicle, the sub-zero wind biting at my face, but I felt nothing except the white-hot fire burning in my veins.
"Status?" I asked, walking past the disarmed, kneeling Vandermark guards who were being held at gunpoint by my men.
"The perimeter is locked down, Boss," Gideon reported, falling into step beside me as I strode toward the grand oak front doors. "We disarmed her detail ten minutes ago. They tried to draw on us. Two of them took non-lethal rounds to the legs. The rest surrendered."
"And Celeste?"
"She’s in the primary drawing room," Gideon said, a grim smile touching his scarred lips. "She tried to claim she was calling her father and the police chief. I cut the landlines and jammed all cellular frequencies within a two-mile radius. She’s completely isolated."
"Good," I said, pushing the heavy double doors open.
The warmth of the grand foyer hit me, smelling faintly of pine, expensive wax, and the metallic scent of old blood that had not yet been fully scrubbed from the conservatory floor.
I walked purposefully down the wide marble hallway, throwing open the polished mahogany doors of the drawing room.
Celeste was pacing near the grand stone fireplace, a glass of crystal cognac trembling in her hand. She still wore her floor-length silk evening gown, though the bottom hem was ruined with slush and dirt. Her blonde hair was slightly disheveled, but her eyes—those cold, calculating ice-blue eyes—flashed with venom the moment she saw me enter.
"Dominic!" she demanded, slamming her glass down onto the mantlepiece, sloshing liquid across the dark wood. "What is the meaning of this madness? Your brainless thugs disarmed my bodyguards! They cut my phone lines! I am a Vandermark! You cannot treat me like one of your street corner enforcers!"
I didn't answer right away. I unbuttoned my heavy wool coat, removed it, and tossed it over the back of an armchair. I walked over to the side table, poured myself two fingers of bourbon, and took a slow, deliberate sip.
My silence was heavier than any shout. The sheer, terrifying weight of it caused Celeste’s aristocratic posture to stiffen. The outrage in her eyes slowly gave way to a tiny flicker of genuine, primal fear.
"Where is the journal, Celeste?" I asked smoothly, setting my glass down.
Her jaw twitched. "What... what nonsense are you talking about? What journal?"
"Don't perform for me," I said, stepping into her space until my six-foot-three frame completely blocked out the firelight behind her. "The leather-bound ledger you took from my mother's room after you struck Delia Marlowe across the face with a crystal decanter."
Celeste tried to maintain her mocking smile, but a cold bead of sweat broke out near her hairline. "Dominic, darling, you're exhausted. You're taking the delusional word of a low-class, temporary nurse over your future wife? The girl is insane! She stumbled in the conservatory, smashed the glass, and when I tried to help her, she attacked me! I had to defend myself!"
"Delia Marlowe was engaged to my brother Ewan," I said, my voice dropping to a dangerous whisper.
The air sucked right out of Celeste's lungs. Her eyes widened in violent, undeniable shock. The color drained from her face so fast she looked like a marble statue.
"You... you knew?" she breathed out, her composure completely disintegrating.
"I didn't," I confessed, taking another half-step forward, forcing her back until her spine hit the edge of the stone fireplace mantel. "Not until an hour ago. I spent six years believing my brother died in a tragic dock fire. I spent two years believing my mother suffered an unavoidable stroke. And I spent three weeks planning a wedding with the monster who engineered it all."
"Dominic, listen to me!" Celeste gasped, reaching out to grab my lapels, her manicured nails digging into my suit. "It wasn't personal! It was business! Ewan found out about the supply routes! He was going to destroy both our families! My father ordered it—I had no choice!"
"You always had a choice," I growled, reaching up and wrapping my fingers tightly around her wrists, forcing her hands off my chest. "You chose to execute a Moretti. You chose to poison my mother. And last night, you chose to put your hands on a woman who is under my protection."
"You can't touch me!" Celeste shrieked, panic finally consuming her. "If I don't return to Lake Forest by morning, my father will unleash the full force of the Vandermark syndicate on the South Side! It will be an all-out war!"
"Let it be war," I whispered into her ear. "Your father built his empire on shipping routes and political bribes. I built mine on blood and iron. Who do you think survives when the snow melts?"
I shoved her back into the armchair.
"Gideon," I called out.
Gideon stepped into the room, holding a sleek black briefcase.
"Search her coat, her vehicle, and her personal quarters," I ordered. "Find Ewan’s journal. Then take Miss Vandermark down to the holding cells beneath the south warehouse. Strip her of her jewelry, her phone, and her silk. She stays in the dark until I decide how she dies."
"You can't do this! Dominic! DOMINIC!" Celeste screamed, kicking and thrashing as Gideon and two heavy enforcers seized her by the arms, dragging her screaming out of the grand drawing room.
I stood alone by the fire, listening to her fading shrieks echo down the corridor until the heavy basement doors slammed shut.
May you like
I looked down at my hands. They were steady. For the first time in six years, the heavy, suffocating fog that had hung over my family’s house was beginning to clear.
I turned and walked upstairs toward my mother's bedroom.
