Chapter 4 Shadows at Dawn

By the time I crawled out of the laundry chute into my bathroom, my hands were raw, and my heart was pounding so hard I thought my ribs would crack. My knees buckled the instant I hit the tile floor, and I had to brace both palms against the cold porcelain of the tub just to keep myself upright.

I scrubbed my skin under boiling water until the water ran clear, then pink, then clear again, watching the last traces of rust-colored water spiral down the drain before I finally trusted my own hands to shut off the taps. I burned my blood-stained dress in the hearth, watching the fabric shrivel into ash, the silk curling and blackening at the edges before it collapsed into itself, before slipping into a fresh silk robe and crawling into bed, pulling the covers up to my chin as though the weight of them alone could steady my breathing.

I lay there staring at the ceiling, pretending to sleep, while sirens wailed outside the estate grounds all night long, the sound rising and falling in long, mournful waves that seemed to press against the windows every time they passed. I counted the seconds between each pass, the way I used to count sheep as a child, until the numbers blurred together and dawn finally began to grey the edges of the curtains.

At six in the morning, my bedroom door slammed open, the sound cracking through the quiet room like a gunshot.

"Lydia!"

Julian stood in the doorway, his face pale as chalk, his necktie loosened, looking older than I had ever seen him, deep creases carved into his forehead that I didn't remember being there the night before.

I sat up slowly, rubbing my eyes and forcing a bewildered, terrified look onto my face, letting my hair fall loose and tangled around my shoulders the way it might if I'd actually been asleep. "Uncle? What's happening? Why are there alarms?"

"There was a catastrophe in the sub-basement," he snapped, stepping into the room and pacing frantically, his shoes striking hard against the floorboards with every turn. "A containment breach. Several high-value prisoners escaped."

I swallowed hard, pressing one hand flat against my chest as though I could hold my own pulse in check by force. "Prisoners?"

"Gideon is dead," Julian said, his voice dropping into a dangerous whisper. "His throat was cut in his cell. And in the confusion, Vault Zero was opened. Damon Thorne is loose in Manhattan."

I gasped, covering my mouth with both hands, letting my eyes go wide and glassy. "Damon Thorne? He's alive? The kingpin? But... how? Who did this?"

Julian stopped pacing. His cold gray eyes locked onto mine, searching every inch of my face with terrifying intensity, the silence between us stretching taut enough that I could hear my own pulse hammering in my ears.

"That is what the security team is trying to figure out," he said slowly. "You had more reason to want Gideon dead than anyone in this syndicate, Lydia."

"You think I did it?" I made my voice quiver, letting tears pool in my eyes and finally spill down my cheeks. "Uncle, I was in this bed all night! I don't even know how to get into the security bunker!"

He stared at me for five agonizing seconds, his jaw working slightly as though he were chewing over every possibility at once. I didn't blink. I didn't flinch. I let my lower lip tremble instead, my fingers twisting into the edge of the blanket.

"The Blackwood delegation will be here in two hours," Julian said finally, rubbing his temples in exhaustion, his shoulders sagging under some invisible weight. "Tristan Blackwood will be furious. His enforcer is dead, and his family's greatest rival is back on the streets. He will demand blood before he signs any peace agreement."

"What are you going to do?"

"You are going to dress in your finest clothes, sit at that table, and agree to every single condition Tristan sets," Julian said coldly. "You are the only leverage I have left to keep the Blackwoods from declaring open war on us. Do not embarrass me, Lydia."

He turned and walked out, slamming the door behind him, the frame rattling in its hinges hard enough to knock a framed photograph askew on the wall.

Ten minutes later, I slipped out through the rear terrace toward the estate's glass conservatory, my bare feet silent against the cold flagstones, my robe cinched tight against the early morning chill. Cole was already waiting behind the tall orchids, his face pale and anxious, one hand braced against the iron frame of the greenhouse wall.

"Lydia!" He grabbed my shoulders, checking me for injuries, his eyes darting quickly down my arms and back up to my face. "Thank God. The whole estate is crawling with guards. They're saying someone executed Gideon!"

"I did it, Cole," I whispered, looking directly into his eyes, my hands coming up to grip his forearms just to feel something solid beneath my fingers.

Cole froze. His jaw dropped, his grip on my shoulders going slack for a moment before tightening again. "You... what?"

"I killed him. I cut his throat with my mother's stiletto," I said, tears finally spilling down my cheeks in earnest now, my voice cracking on the last word. "And now the Blackwood family is coming, and Julian is going to hand me to Tristan to make up for Gideon's death. When they find out it was me, they won't just marry me, Cole. They'll break me into pieces."

"No one is touching you," Cole said fiercely, his hands tightening on my arms hard enough that I felt the pressure through the silk of my robe. "I won't let them take you."

"There's no choice! Julian has guards on every exit!"

"Listen to me," Cole urged, his eyes burning with frantic determination, his voice dropping low and fast. "I have a plan. A staged abduction. When the motorcade transfers you to the Blackwood estate this afternoon, my team will ambush the secondary escort vehicle. We make it look like a rival hit squad took you. Julian won't be able to blame you, and the Blackwoods won't have a bride to collect."

"Cole, that's insane! If Julian catches you—"

"We disappear to Europe," Cole insisted, his thumbs pressing into my upper arms as though he could will the plan into being through sheer force. "It's the only way out, Lydia. Do you trust me?"

Before I could answer, a shadow fell across the glass doorway, long and sharp against the pale morning light spilling through the panes.

"How touching," a cold voice sneered.

We spun around. Julian stood at the entrance of the conservatory, flanked by four armed security guards, their boots crunching against the gravel path behind him, his face twisted in utter contempt.

"Seize them," Julian ordered coldly.