Chapter 9 - A Whisper in the Dark
Back at the New Hampshire estate, the midnight rain began to tap softly against the timber-and-stone windowpanes.
Inside the master bedroom, Josie tossed restlessly in her sleep, a vague sense of unease gripping her chest. She rolled over, reaching across the plush mattress, but found Constantine’s side cold and empty.
Sitting up, she pulled a silk robe over her shoulders and padded quietly down the long hallway. A sliver of warm light cut across the floorboards from the half-open door of the study.
Josie approached softly, intending to check on him, but stopped dead in her tracks when she heard his voice.
"...I don't care about their offshore accounts, Viktor. Burn the accounts to the ground. If Vance steps foot in New Hampshire, he doesn't leave the woods alive. Am I understood?"
Josie’s breath caught in her throat. She pushed the heavy oak door open just an inch. On the desk lay the surveillance photographs—the telephoto shots of her and Mila walking by the lake, marked with red crosshairs.
The cold realization hit her like a physical blow. The violence, the blood, and the shadows hadn't stayed behind in Boston. They had followed them into paradise.
"Constantine," Josie whispered, pushing the door open all the way.
Constantine spun around, his hand instinctively dropping away from his shoulder holster as he saw her standing there in the doorway, her eyes wide with shock and fear.
"Josie," he said softly, stepping around the desk. "You should be sleeping."
"What is this?" She pointed a trembling finger at the photographs on the desk. "You told me it was over, Constantine. You said Moretti was the end of it."
"Moretti was a distraction," Constantine answered, his voice low and urgent as he reached out to take her hands. "There is an old ghost from my past—Julian Vance. He thinks he can threaten our family. I am handling it."
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"By turning our home into a war zone?" Josie pulled her hands away, tears welling in her eyes. "I didn't run away from a miserable life in Boston just to live like a prisoner waiting for an executioner to kick down the door! Look at me, Constantine. Look at Mila! We are not your shields!"
Constantine stood frozen, the fierce, protective warlord completely disarmed by the raw, aching truth in her words. He had fought the entire world to keep them safe, but in doing so, he was bringing the war straight to their doorstep.
