Chapter 3 - Whispering to Shadows
The west guest wing was larger than Sofia’s entire previous apartment complex in downtown Chicago. It featured vaulted ceilings, velvet drapes, heated parquet floors, and tall windows that caught the morning sun. Yet, standing in the middle of the opulent bedroom, Sofia felt more uneasy than she had in the cramped service quarters.
You didn't accept favors from Adrian Mercer without paying a price. In the criminal underworld he commanded, everything was a transaction. Protection required leverage; gifts required loyalty.
"Look, Mommy! Look at the big chair!" Emma cheered, climbing onto an antique velvet armchair that looked like it belonged in a museum.
"Emma, honey, come down," Sofia sighed, rubbing her temples as a mild headache began to throb behind her eyes. She walked to the window and looked out toward the courtyard.
Down below, past the frozen fountain, a dark shape was moving across the snow.
Bruno.
The massive Cane Corso was pacing slowly near the stone archway, his head low, sniffing the perimeter. But as Sofia watched, the dog paused, turned his head toward the west wing, and trotted directly beneath their window. He sat down squarely in the middle of the path, looking up at the glass with unblinking yellow-brown eyes.
He was standing guard. Not just for the estate, but for them.
A sharp knock at the door broke Sofia’s concentration.
She opened it to find Marcus standing in the hallway, holding a thick manila folder in one hand and a digital tablet in the other. His expression was as wooden as ever, though there was a strange new cautiousness in the way he looked at her.
"Mrs. Carter," Marcus said stiffly. "Mr. Mercer asked me to deliver your new operational schedule and security clearances."
"Operational schedule?" Sofia echoed, stepping back to let him in. "Marcus, I'm a laundress. I don't have operations."
"You did," Marcus corrected, stepping into the room and laying the folder on the polished mahogany table. "Now you report directly to the master suite. Your primary responsibility is maintaining proximity to the animal during daytime hours when Mr. Mercer is occupied with business."
Sofia stared at him in disbelief. "You're turning me into a dog-walker?"
"I'm relaying the boss's orders," Marcus said bluntly. He glanced at Emma, who was now babbling happily to a stuffed rabbit on the sofa. Lowering his voice slightly, Marcus leaned in a fraction of an inch. "Look, Mrs. Carter—I don't know what kind of game you're playing, or if you've got some weird background we missed in the vetting process, but Mr. Mercer doesn't make exceptions. Ever. The last person who looked sideways at that dog got shipped to a timber camp in Montana. The fact that he moved you into the west wing means you're either the luckiest woman alive or walking a very thin tightrope over a volcano."
"I didn't ask for this," Sofia whispered fiercely, her maternal protective instincts flaring up. "My daughter just wandered outside. We want to live a quiet life, Marcus. We don't want your boss's charity, and we don't want to be part of whatever war he's fighting."
Marcus gave a dry, humorless smile. "Nobody at Hawthorne Ridge lives a quiet life, Mrs. Carter. Especially not now."
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Before Sofia could ask what he meant, a low, muffled explosion echoed from the far side of the estate, rattling the heavy glass panes in their window frames.
Marcus spun around on his heel, his hand instantly dropping beneath his jacket to grip his weapon. "Stay in this room. Lock the door. Do not open it for anyone except me or Mr. Mercer."
