Chapter 7 - Shadows at the Lake
The applause had long since faded, and the last of the silk pavilions was packed away into crates as twilight bled across the New Hampshire mountains. The celebration on the estate grounds had settled into a quiet, embers-and-wine evening for the inner circle, but inside the sprawling master study of the timber-and-stone house, the atmosphere was razor-sharp.
Constantine stood by floor-to-ceiling glass windows, watching the silver moonlight ripple across the surface of the lake. The high-caliber tactical shotgun from Pier 42 was locked in a biometric safe beneath the floorboards, but a sleek Walther PPK rested snugly in the shoulder holster beneath his tailored charcoal vest.
The door clicked open. Viktor stepped inside, closing it quietly behind him. He dropped a heavy manila folder onto the mahogany desk.
"You didn't think it was going to end at Pier 42, did you, boss?" Viktor asked, his voice low and gravelly.
Constantine didn't turn around. "Moretti was a localized infection. He lacked the vision to build an empire of his own; he was just a scavenger feeding on the scraps of the old guard."
"True," Viktor said, tapping a finger against the manila folder. "But Moretti didn't act alone on the European transfers. Our offshore forensic team just decrypted the hard drives recovered from Voss Manor's ruins. Take a look at page four."
Constantine turned, his long strides carrying him across the room. He flipped open the folder and scanned the cipher-text and wire transfers. His dark eyes narrowed into cold slits.
A high-frequency Swiss bank routing number traced directly back to The Syndicate of the Seven—the clandestine council of international power-brokers Constantine thought he had buried a decade ago in Marseille.
"They're moving back into the North American shipping lanes," Constantine said, the temperature in the room dropping visibly. "They used Moretti as a blunt instrument to test our defenses while we were rebuilding."
"And they know about Josie. And Mila," Viktor added grimly. "The file contains a surveillance sweep of this exact property taken three days ago. They aren't just targeting your business anymore, Constantine. They're coming for your family."
Down the hall, the soft, musical sound of laughter drifted through the doorway. Josie was sitting on the edge of Mila's bed, reading a bedtime story, the little girl's happy giggles echoing through the cedar-paneled walls.
Constantine stared at the surveillance photographs on the desk—grainy, long-range telephoto shots of Josie walking along the lake with Mila, completely unaware of the crosshairs tracking them.
The peace they had fought so desperately to build was standing on the edge of a blade.
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Constantine closed the folder with a sharp thud. He reached under his arm, checking the release of his sidearm, his face hardening into the mask of the ruthless protector he had tried so hard to leave behind.
"Viktor," Constantine whispered, his voice vibrating with lethal intent. "Saddle up the cars. We are going hunting."
