Chapter 1 - The Cold Truth in the Dark
The echo of Nathan’s voice in the subterranean room was entirely wrong. It was the pitch-perfect performance of a horrified brother, a loyal second-in-command who had just discovered a tragedy. But Dominic Vale had spent thirty years studying the biology of fear and deception. He knew the exact speed at which a man's heart should beat when he was genuinely surprised.
Nathan’s pulse, visible in the steady, rhythmic throbbing of the vein at his temple, was perfectly calm.
Dominic didn't look back at him. He remained crouched on the damp concrete floor, his massive hands surprisingly gentle as he rubbed Mia’s wrists to bring the circulation back into her gray, bruised skin. Her uniform was torn at the shoulder, revealing the harsh yellow-and-purple evidence of a violent struggle.
"Marcus," Dominic said, his voice flat, dangerously devoid of inflection. "Get the medic down here. Tell him if a single word of this leaves the estate, he won't live to see the sunset."
"Right away, Boss," Marcus said, his heavy footsteps fading rapidly up the stone stairs.
Dominic turned his head slowly, his dark eyes locking onto Nathan, who still stood in the doorway with his hands raised in a gesture of defensive shock. Claire Bennett, Dominic’s beautiful, aristocratic fiancée, suddenly appeared behind Nathan, her silk robe tied loosely around her waist. Her face was a mask of pale horror, her hands flying to her mouth.
"Dominic!" Claire gasped, her voice echoing off the brick wine racks. "Oh my god... Mia? What happened to her? I thought she went to her mother's! I swear she told me she was leaving!"
"She didn't leave, Claire," Dominic said, standing up to his full, imposing height of six-foot-three. He stepped between the terrified mother and child and the two people who had ruled his life for the past year. "She’s been right here. Breathing the air underneath my feet while I was away."
Nathan took a step into the cellar, his hands now buried in his slacks pockets. "Dom, this is insane. Someone breached the house while you were in Atlantic City. We need to lock down the perimeter. It could be the Moretti family. They’ve been trying to find a vulnerability in our security detail for months."
"The Moretti family doesn't have the code to the western corridor security gate, Nathan," Dominic said, walking toward him. The two guards, Daniel and Marcus, silently shifted their positions, blocking the exit behind Nathan and Claire.
Nathan’s eyes darted to the guards, then back to Dominic. The brotherly warmth in his expression finally began to stiffen. "What are you implying, Dom? You’ve known me for seventeen years. I pulled you out of a burning car in Queens. You think I had something to do with this?"
Dominic stopped just six inches from Nathan’s face. The smell of expensive cologne and early morning coffee rolled off his advisor—the same coffee Mia usually brewed.
"You told me Claire bought the lock," Dominic whispered. "Claire just said she thought Mia went to Pennsylvania. If Claire thought she was gone, why did she need to lock a cellar she believed was empty?"
Claire’s breath hitched. She looked at Nathan, her eyes wide with a sudden, sharp panic. "Nathan, you said—"
May you like
"Shut up, Claire," Nathan snapped, his voice losing its polished, professional sheen. The mask was slipping, revealing the cold, calculating predator underneath. He looked back at Dominic, his jaw tightening. "You're letting the words of a traumatized four-year-old child dictate how you treat your family, Dom. That’s a dangerous path for a man in your position."
"The child didn't lie about the knocking, Nathan," Dominic said. He reached down and picked up the broken brass padlock from the floor, tossing it lightly in his hand. "And she didn't lie about who put it there. We're going upstairs. Now."
