Chapter 5 - The Snake in the Garden
By noon the following day, the storm had cleared, leaving Chicago beneath a crisp, pale autumn sky.
Despite the high-tech security and the luxurious surroundings of Blackwood Manor, an oppressive tension hung over the estate. Damian’s security detail had doubled. Men with submachine guns walked the perimeter fences with German Shepherds, and every vehicle entering the gates was swept for explosives.
Nora sat on the stone terrace overlooking Lake Michigan, holding a sketchbook in her lap.
Beside her, Lily was happily coloring a drawing of a bright yellow sun with crayons Nora had asked the staff to find. For the first time in months, the small girl’s face was bright, her laughter ringing out across the quiet terrace whenever a seagull swooped low over the water.
Nora watched her, feeling a strange, deep sense of peace settle over her heart. But beneath that peace was a growing anxiety.
She knew she couldn't stay in this palace forever. She was a diner girl from the South Side, not a member of high society. Yet every time she thought about leaving, her heart twitched. Lily had attached herself to Nora like a shadow, and Damian... Damian looked at her with a quiet, intense gaze that made her skin tingle whenever they were in the same room.
A soft step sounded on the stone terrace.
It wasn't Damian. It was Vance—Damian’s chief lieutenant.
Vance was a tall, lean man in his late thirties with slicked-back blonde hair, sharp blue eyes, and an impeccably tailored navy suit. He had been Damian’s right-hand man for five years, handling the family's corporate operations and political bribes.
"Miss Ellison," Vance said smoothly, offering her a polite nod. "Mr. Voss asked me to bring you these documents regarding your grandmother’s trust fund."
"Thank you, Mr. Vance," Nora said, reaching out to take the envelope.
As Vance handed her the papers, the cuff of his left sleeve pulled back slightly, exposing his wrist.
Nora’s eyes locked onto it.
On Vance’s inner wrist was a tiny, faint silver scar—shaped like a jagged crescent moon.
Nora’s mind flashed back violently to the rain-slicked fire escape outside her apartment window two nights ago. The man who had broken through the kitchen window, the one whose nose she had kicked... as he had reached out to grab her foot, his sleeve had ridden up, revealing that exact same crescent-moon scar.
Nora felt the blood drain entirely from her face. Her breathing stopped.
Vance saw her staring at his wrist. He pulled his sleeve down smoothly, his polite smile never slipping for a fraction of a second, but his eyes turned instantly cold—like a reptile calculating its next strike.
"Is something wrong, Miss Ellison?" Vance asked softly.
"No," Nora forced her voice to sound completely calm, though her heart was pounding like a jackhammer against her ribs. She looked down at Lily, who was still busy coloring her picture. "No, nothing is wrong. Just... a headache."
"I see," Vance murmured, taking a slow step closer. "You should rest. The manor can be... overwhelming for people who aren't used to our way of life."
Before Vance could say another word, the glass doors opened, and Damian stepped out onto the terrace.
The atmosphere shifted instantly. Vance pulled back two paces, bowing his head respectfully toward his boss.
"Boss," Vance said smoothly. "I was just delivering the trust papers to Miss Ellison. We’ve secured Commissioner Callahan’s safehouses in the North District, but he’s gone to ground. We suspect he’s trying to charter a private jet out of O'Hare."
Damian didn't look at Vance; his eyes were fixed entirely on Nora. He noticed the pale tint of her skin, the way her hands were tightly gripping the edge of her sketchbook, and the subtle terror reflecting in her eyes.
"Leave us, Vance," Damian commanded flatly.
"Of course, Boss," Vance replied, turning on his heel and walking back inside the manor.
The moment the heavy glass doors slid shut behind Vance, Damian walked over to the terrace table. He knelt beside Nora’s chair, his massive frame shielding her from the view of the house windows.
"What did he do?" Damian asked, his voice a low, dangerous growl.
Nora leaned in close, ensuring Lily couldn't hear her over the sound of the ocean waves.
"It’s him," Nora whispered, her lips trembling against Damian’s ear. "The mole. It’s Vance."
Damian didn't flinch. He didn't gasp. His dark gray eyes simply hardened into two chips of flint.
"Are you certain?"
"The scar on his left wrist," Nora whispered frantically. "The man who picked my lock and tried to grab me on the fire escape... he had that exact same crescent-moon scar. It’s Vance, Damian. He’s working with Callahan."
Damian sat back slowly, his jaw muscles clenching so hard a vein throbbed along his temple.
Vance had been at his side during the funeral of his late wife. Vance had carried Lily in his arms when she was a toddler. He had trusted Vance with his life, his business, and his family’s safety for half a decade.
"He tried to take my daughter," Damian whispered, the words coming out as a silent promise of complete destruction. "He sold her to Callahan to force me to surrender my shipping docks."
Damian reached out, his large, warm hand gently taking hold of Nora’s trembling fingers.
"You are incredible, Nora," Damian said softly, looking deeply into her eyes. "Most people would have panicked. You kept your composure right in front of him."
May you like
"What are we going to do?" Nora asked, her fingers tightening around his.
"We give him enough rope to hang himself," Damian said, standing up and pulling his encrypted phone from his coat. "Vance thinks he’s playing a chess game. He doesn't realize I’m about to burn the entire board to the ground."
