Chapter 3 - Blood and Ink
Dominic pushed open the double doors of the east wing without knocking. The sudden draft rustled the loose papers spread across Julian’s desk. Grace was standing near the bookshelf, holding a tray, while Julian sat rigid in his wheelchair.
"Out," Dominic barked, his voice filled with the dangerous authority that made seasoned hitmen flinch.
Grace didn't move. She set the tray down slowly, looking at Dominic with a cool, measured gaze. "He is writing, Mr. Vale. Interrupting an author mid-thought is poor manners, regardless of who owns the house."
"Grace, leave us," Julian’s voice rasped again—louder this time, though clearly agonizing to produce.
Dominic froze in his tracks. Hearing his brother’s voice in person hit him like a physical blow. The last time Julian had spoken to him was in the intensive care unit, whispering 'Don't let them win' before drifting into a seven-year coma of silence.
Grace looked between the two giant men, sensing the volcanic pressure rising between them. She gave Julian a subtle nod of support and walked out, closing the heavy doors softly behind her.
"You’re speaking," Dominic said, his voice dropping an octave, raw with emotion. "To her. But not to me."
Julian turned his wheelchair to face his twin. He picked up his pen and wrote a single line on a notepad, shoving it across the desk toward Dominic.
You look at me and see a target to protect. She looks at me and sees a man who has something to say.
Dominic grabbed the paper, crumpling it slightly in his fist. "I spent seven years keeping you alive! Victor is circling like a vulture, Julian. He’s paid off three of our family captains. I spend every waking hour ensuring the food you eat isn't poisoned, the air you breathe isn't tainted, and the staff in this house aren't assassins! Forgive me if I didn't stop to ask about your favorite books!"
Julian stared at his brother, his eyes softening slightly. He reached out and tapped the crumpled paper in Dominic's hand. He gestured for the pen again.
I know what you sacrificed, Dom. But you built a prison and called it safety. Grace opened the window.
May you like
Before Dominic could respond, the estate’s perimeter alarms blared—a low, rhythmic pulse that lit up the hallway outside in flashing red. Dominic’s instincts instantly shifted from family drama to survival mode. He pulled a custom Kimber .45 from his shoulder holster, chambering a round with a sharp clack.
"Stay here," Dominic commanded, his voice cold as steel. "Victor’s men are at the gates."
