Chapter 3 - Shadows at the Door
Paulie Vance was a man forged in the dark ages of the Delacroix syndicate. He was fifty-eight years old, with a thick neck, a face scarred by street fights, and eyes as cold as a winter morning in Chicago. He wore a heavy leather coat that smelled of cheap cigars and rain.
Behind him stepped two of his loyal soldiers, Sal and Frankie, their suits bulging beneath their left arms.
"Christopher," Paulie grunted, tossing a damp fedora onto my leather couch. "We got a problem at Pier 42."
"Good morning to you too, Paulie," I said smoothly, not bothering to stand up. "What kind of problem?"
"Federal agents," Paulie growled, leaning his thick palms against the front of my mahogany desk. "A tactical squad intercepted one of our incoming container ships from Marseille. They had a signed warrant from a federal judge. Someone tipped them off that we had a shipment of unregistered firearms hidden beneath the machinery parts."
My eyes narrowed. Pier 42 was supposed to be completely clean. I had explicitly ordered all illegal smuggling through that port to cease three months ago as part of my transition into legitimate logistics.
"I gave direct orders that Pier 42 was strictly commercial cargo, Paulie," I said, my voice dropping into a dangerous whisper. "Why were there firearms on that ship?"
Paulie’s jaw tightened. "Because the street captains need income, Christopher! You're moving us into real estate and stocks, but the boys on the corner can't pay their mortgages with corporate dividends. They need cash. Your father understood that. Arthur knew that a boss who doesn't feed his soldiers gets eaten."
"My father is six feet under a marble tomb in Queens, Paulie," I countered, standing up slowly so I towered over him. "And if you ever bypass my authority to run contraband through my ports again, you'll be joining him."
Paulie didn't flinch. He glared at me, the tension between us thick enough to cut with a blade. "You've gone soft, kid. Ever since your old lady got sick, your head hasn't been in the game. You're spending all your time cooped up in this mansion playing nursemaid."
He paused, his eyes darting toward the side door of my office—the door Hannah and my mother had just used to escape.
"Speaking of the house," Paulie said, his tone shifting into something unpleasantly casual, "I noticed a lot of new faces around here lately. Private doctors, nurses... and some fresh housekeepers."
My pulse spiked, but I kept my expression completely blank. "My mother requires care. What of it?"
"Nothing," Paulie muttered, taking a tooth-pick from his pocket and sliding it into the corner of his mouth. "Just saying... a house full of strangers is a security risk. I saw a young girl leaving the service entrance when we pulled up. Fair hair, green eyes. Looks familiar for some reason. She one of the new staff?"
A cold drop of sweat rolled down my spine, but I let out a dry, dismissive laugh. "She's a maid, Paulie. She cleans the toilets in the east wing. Are you auditing my domestic staff now?"
Paulie stared at me for three long seconds, evaluating my reaction. "Just keeping my eyes open, boss. Your father always said the deepest stabs come from the hands you don't watch."
"My father said a lot of things right before he died of a stroke brought on by stress and paranoia," I replied coldly. "Fix the mess at Pier 42. Use our legal team to firewall the container company from the main holding firm. And do not bring illegal shipments into my ports again. Am I clear?"
Paulie stared at me, then slowly nodded, grabbing his hat off the couch. "Clear as glass, Christopher. We'll handle the feds."
He turned and walked out of the office, his two soldiers falling in step behind him.
I waited until the heavy front doors of the mansion slammed shut before collapsing back into my leather chair. My hands were shaking slightly. Paulie hadn't recognized Hannah yet, but he had noticed her. The old street dog had an instinct for blood. If he looked closer, if he checked her employment records or saw her face in better light, he would put the pieces together.
I stood up and walked down the long corridor toward my mother's quarters in the east wing.
When I pushed open the door, I found Hannah sitting on the edge of my mother's bed. She was reading aloud from an old book of poetry, her voice soft and soothing. Florence had her eyes closed, a peaceful expression on her frail face.
When Hannah saw me, she immediately closed the book and stood up, stepping back into her rigid, submissive posture.
"Mr. Delacroix," she murmured.
"Stop calling me that," I said, shutting the door behind me and locking it.
Hannah blinked. "Sir?"
I walked over to the bed, looking down at my sick mother, then turned to face Hannah. "Paulie Vance was just here. He saw you near the service entrance."
Hannah's hand flew to her collar. "Did he... did he say something?"
"He noticed you," I said flatly. "In my world, being noticed by Paulie Vance is a death sentence waiting to happen. You can't stay in the staff quarters anymore. And you certainly can't keep wearing that maid's uniform."
"Christopher," my mother said softly, opening her eyes. "What are you going to do?"
I looked at Hannah—this girl who carried my father's blood, my mother's secret gratitude, and a heart far too pure for the kingdom I ruled.
"Starting today," I announced, "Hannah is no longer a housekeeper. I am moving her into the master suite guest rooms on the third floor. Official story for the staff and the family: she has been promoted to my mother's primary personal companion and assistant."
Hannah shook her head rapidly. "No, Mr. Delacroix! The other housekeepers will gossip! They'll think..."
"Let them think whatever they want," I interrupted firmly. "Let them think you're my mistress for all I care. Scandal is harmless. The truth will get you killed. From this moment on, you don't scrub a single floor. You don't clear a single plate. You stay by my mother's side, and you do what I tell you."
May you like
Hannah stared at me, her green eyes wide with shock. "And what if I refuse?"
"You don't get to refuse," I said, stepping closer to her, my voice dropping into an intense, protective command. "Like it or not, Hannah Miller, you are a Delacroix now. And I don't let anyone destroy what belongs to my family."
