Chapter 3 - Wolves at the Gate
Carrying Evelyn in my arms, escorted by a terrified but resolute Beatrice, I returned to my armored SUV. We drove through the dark streets back to the Falcone estate—a fortress surrounded by eighteen-foot stone walls and fifty heavily armed guards.
I brought them in through my private subterranean entrance, taking them directly to the master wing on the top floor. I summoned my most trusted personal doctor, a man bound to me by life-debt, to evaluate Evelyn’s lungs and set up an oxygen concentrator.
Beatrice stood near the fireplace in my master bedroom, her hands wrapped around a mug of hot tea I had forced onto her. She looked exhausted, her simple maid’s clothes worn and splattered with slush.
“Why didn't you come to me, Beatrice?” I asked softly, stepping closer to her. “Twelve years ago. Why didn't you bring her directly to my house?”
Beatrice looked up, her dark eyes filled with a heartbreaking blend of sorrow and resilience. “Because Lorenzo was your right hand, Julian. Back then, you listened to him. He was the one who controlled your security detail, your phones, your perimeter. If I had brought her to the front gate, Lorenzo’s guards would have buried both of us in the forest before you ever knew we arrived.”
She was right. Twelve years ago, I was young, reckless, and blinded by grief. I had trusted Lorenzo implicitly.
“You bore a burden that would have crushed a hundred strong men,” I said, reaching out to gently touch her hand. Her fingers were rough from hard labor, but to me, they were sacred. “You sacrificed your youth, your freedom, your life to protect my sister.”
Beatrice flushed slightly, looking down at our joined hands. “She was my friend. And... I couldn't let them destroy what was left of your family.”
Before I could answer, my encrypted radio buzzed on my belt. Lorenzo’s gravelly voice came through the speaker.
“Boss? Security reported your SUV left the estate an hour ago without an escort. Is everything alright?”
I pressed the comm button, keeping my voice smooth, ice-cold, and entirely relaxed. “Everything is fine, Lorenzo. I took a drive to clear my head. The maid... she wasn't stealing for profit. Just a destitute relative.”
There was a long pause on the line. “You let her go?”
“I dealt with it,” I replied casually. “Meet me in the grand courtyard tomorrow morning at eight. We have syndicate business to finalize regarding the O’Connor docks.”
“Understood, Boss. Sleep well.”
May you like
I cut the comms and turned back to Beatrice. The softness in my eyes vanished, replaced by the lethal focus that had kept me alive on the streets of Chicago.
“He knows something is wrong,” I murmured. “Lorenzo is a rat, and rats move fast when they smell smoke. Tomorrow, we pull his teeth out.”
