Chapter 5 - The Rat in the Family
Dawn broke gray and frigid, the storm clearing to leave behind a thick, suffocating fog rolling off the surface of Lake Geneva.
I was in the kitchen brewing black coffee when the secure terminal on the island counter chimed with a priority-three alert.
I tapped the screen. It was a live feed from our Chicago compound’s subterranean server. Someone was attempting to access our encrypted communication logs using Margaret’s master clearance code.
Not just anyone. Ethan.
My younger brother—the useless parasite who lived off my dividends, gambled away our syndicate's laundered cash, and panicked at the first sign of real danger—was selling us out.
I watched the screen in cold silence as Ethan’s face flickered on the camera feed inside the Chicago estate’s underground vault, typing rapidly into the terminal, forwarding our security shift changes, guard rotations, and location coordinates directly to an external IP address registered in Detroit.
He wasn't just hedging his bets. He was trading my head to Salvatore Moretti in exchange for a seat at the Detroit table.
"Vance," I said, keying my lapel mic.
"I'm here, Boss."
"Get the Gulfstream prepped at the private airstrip in Kenosha. Take four men and drive to the Chicago compound. Bring Ethan to me."
"Alive?" Vance asked, a dangerous edge in his voice.
"Tie him up and throw him in the trunk," I said softly. "I want to ask him personally why he thinks my blood is worth selling."
By noon, the heavy iron gates of the lake house swung open once more, admitting a single black SUV that had driven straight from Chicago.
I was waiting on the front porch, leaning against the wooden railing with a cup of black coffee in my hand, as Vance and two guards dragged Ethan up the steps. His expensive Italian suit was rumpled, his hair was disheveled, and his face was pale with absolute terror as they shoved him violently onto his knees at my feet.
"Marcus!" Ethan cried out, scrambling backward until his spine hit the porch pillar. "Marcus, please! You don't understand—they forced me! Detroit had leverage—"
"Shut your mouth, Ethan," I said, taking a slow sip of my coffee before setting the mug down on the railing.
I walked down the steps, my heavy leather boots clicking rhythmically against the wood, and stopped right in front of him. I didn't yell. I didn't raise my fist. I just looked at him the way a surgeon looks at a cancerous tumor that needed to be excised.
"Leverage?" I asked quietly. "What kind of leverage could Salvatore possibly have over you that justifies selling your own brother and two innocent children?"
"My debts!" Ethan sobbed, tears spilling over his cheeks. "I lost two million at the Macau tables last month! If I didn't give them your security rotas, they were going to feed me to the Triads, Marcus! I had no choice!"
"You always had a choice," I said.
I motioned with two fingers. Vance stepped forward, yanking Ethan up by his collar and shoving him against the stone wall of the house.
"Marcus, wait! Think of Mother! What would Mother say?!"
"Mother knows exactly what kind of coward she raised," I replied, stepping closer. "Which is why she stayed in Chicago instead of coming back here to defend you. She knew you were a liability the moment you opened your mouth."
I pulled a heavy, gold-plated signet ring off my right hand—the mark of the Chicago syndicate boss—and dropped it heavily into my pocket.
"Vance," I said without looking back. "Take him to the Kenosha warehouse. Lock him in cell four. No phone calls, no food, no water for forty-eight hours. Let him think about what it costs to betray the family."
"No! Marcus, please! MERCY!" Ethan’s screams echoed across the empty lakefront as Vance and the guards dragged him kicking and screaming down the steps and threw him into the back of the SUV.
As the vehicle roared down the drive, kicking up dust, the front door behind me creaked open.
I turned around.
Ivy stood in the doorway, rubbing her eyes with the back of her small hand, wearing an oversized cotton shirt that dragged on the floor.
"Is the bad man gone?" she whispered.
May you like
My expression softened instantly. I walked up the steps, scooped her up into my arms, and buried my face in her dark hair.
"Yes, sweetheart," I murmured, carrying her back inside out of the cold. "The bad man is gone. And nobody is ever going to hurt you again."
