Chapter 4 - The Traitor Within
Grace’s words haunted me through the dark hours of the morning. By dawn, Luca was standing in my study with a thick manila folder and a face as pale as ash.
“You were right, Boss,” Luca said, laying the file across my desk. “We found an anomaly in the north-wing server logs from the night of the murder. The motion sensors weren't hacked from the outside. They were deactivated using an administrative master code.”
My blood ran cold. “Who holds the master code?”
“Only three people,” Luca swallowed hard. “You. Isabelle. And Marcus Vance.”
Marcus Vance.
My consigliere. My right-hand man for over a decade. The man who had managed my accounts, coordinated my security teams, and stood beside me at Isabelle’s funeral, holding a handkerchief and whispering condolences about our shared loss.
“Where is Marcus?” I asked, my voice dangerously quiet.
“He didn't come into the office this morning. His town house is empty. His phones are burned.”
I pulled the loaded gun from my holster, checked the chamber with a crisp, mechanical click, and slid it back into place. “Burn his properties to the ground. Find him. If he’s still in the tri-state area, I want him brought to me breathing, so I can take apart what’s left of his life piece by piece.”
“Already on it, Dominic,” Luca said, turning to leave.
“Wait,” I added, stopping him at the door. “Double security around the mansion. Double the men at the gates. No one—absolulely no one—gets in or out without my direct authorization. Especially not while Grace and the girls are here.”
Luca gave a solemn nod and disappeared into the hallway.
I walked out of the study and headed upstairs. As I passed the girls' bedrooms, I heard soft murmurs coming from Nora’s room. I pushed the door open just an inch.
Grace was sitting on the edge of the twin bed, reading a worn fairy tale book while Nora rested her head in Grace’s lap, playing with the hem of her sweater. Sophie and Olivia sat cross-legged on the rug, listening intently.
May you like
They looked peaceful. For the first time in fourteen months, my daughters looked like children instead of fragile porcelain dolls waiting to shatter.
And standing there in the hallway, watching Grace care for them with a tenderness I had forgotten how to give, I realized something terrifying: I was falling in love with the only person in the world who had the courage to call me out for my failures.
