Chapter 4 - The Uninvited Guest
The heavy iron gates of Blackthorn Hall creaked open under the rainy night sky to admit a fleet of three luxury black sedans.
Dominic stood in the grand foyer, flanked by two of his chief security officers. Eleanor, ignoring his orders to stay locked in her room, stood at the top of the second-floor balcony, looking down into the hall through the marble balustrades. Julian joined her silently in the shadows, his eyes wide with apprehension.
"Who is that?" Eleanor whispered.
"Lorenzo Vance," Julian replied, his voice barely an echo. "My mother's uncle. The head of the Vance family in Milan. He hasn't set foot in England in ten years."
The front doors swung open, letting in a swirl of cold autumn wind and rain. A tall, silver-haired man in an immaculate fur-trimmed coat stepped into the foyer, supported by a gold-tipped cane. Behind him were four broad-shouldered men whose tailored coats could not hide the distinct shapes of shoulder holsters.
"Dominic," Lorenzo Vance said, his voice echoing smoothly off the high ceilings. "It has been too long, my boy."
"Lorenzo," Dominic replied, his tone devoid of warmth. "You usually give notice before crossing the Channel."
"Notice allows people time to hide things," Lorenzo said, offering a tight, wolfish smile. He handed his coat to Arthur, who received it with a rigid, icy politeness. "I came to inspect my late niece's legacy. And to discuss the distribution of the Milan shipping logistics contracts."
Dominic didn't budge. "The contracts were finalized five years ago. The Vance family retains thirty percent. The rest belongs to Moretti Enterprises."
"Things change, Dominic," Lorenzo said, stepping deeper into the foyer. His sharp eyes scanned the grand architecture, eventually drifting upward toward the second-floor balcony. He spotted Eleanor standing in the shadows. "And who is the lovely woman lurking in the dark? Another addition to your... private collection?"
Dominic stepped directly into Lorenzo’s line of sight, blocking his view of Eleanor completely. "She is my household manager. And she is off-limits to you and your men."
Lorenzo chuckled, a dry, raspy sound. "Always so protective, Dominic. Just as you were with my poor niece, Maria. And we both remember how well that turned out."
The air in the room instantly turned lethal. Dominic’s hands clenched into tight fists at his sides, his security guards shifting subtly into firing stances.
From the balcony, Eleanor could feel the sheer, suffocating tension. Lorenzo Vance had not come for a polite family visit; he had come to launch a hostile takeover of Dominic’s empire, leveraging the lingering guilt of Maria’s death.
"You will stay at the Westbury Hotel in London," Dominic said, his voice dropping an octave. "You are not welcome under my roof."
"Nonsense," Lorenzo smoothly countered, pulling a heavy document from his inner coat pocket. "Under the terms of Maria’s original marriage settlement, Blackthorn Hall’s land title remains partially tied to the Vance estate until Julian turns twenty-five—or until he assumes his rightful seat on the board. As long as I hold power of attorney for the Vance board, I have every legal right to stay here."
Julian gasped softly beside Eleanor. "That's a lie... isn't it?"
"I don't know," Eleanor whispered back, her mind spinning. "But your father isn't denying it."
Dominic stared at Lorenzo for a long, agonizing minute. He knew that engaging in an open conflict with the Vance family inside Blackthorn Hall would put everyone—including Eleanor and Julian—in severe danger.
"Arthur," Dominic commanded, his voice cold as ice. "Prepare the east wing suites for Mr. Vance and his retinue. They leave at first light."
Lorenzo smiled triumphantly. "A wise decision, nephew."
Later that night, long after the house had fallen into a uneasy silence, Eleanor walked down to the kitchen to fetch a glass of warm milk to soothe her racing nerves.
As she entered the dimly lit kitchen, she stopped cold.
Lorenzo Vance was standing near the island, pouring himself a glass of Dominic's vintage crystal brandy.
"Ah, the brave little housekeeper," Lorenzo purred, turning to face her. "Miss Hayes, isn't it?"
Eleanor stood her ground, resting her weight evenly. "Mr. Vance. The staff quarters are off-limits to guests."
Lorenzo took a slow step toward her, swirling his glass. "You carry yourself with remarkably high spirits for a servant. Tell me, how much is Dominic paying you to stay in this mausoleum? Or are you sleeping in his bed to double your wage?"
Before Eleanor could reply with the scathing retort on the tip of her tongue, a powerful hand gripped Lorenzo’s shoulder from behind, spinning the older man around violently.
May you like
Dominic stood there, his eyes burning with absolute, dark fury.
"Touch her," Dominic growled, his hand tightening on Lorenzo's shoulder until the older man winced, "and you will not live to see the sunrise, legal title or not."
