Chapter 2 - THE BLOODLINE CUTS DEEP
The heavy double doors of the ballroom swung shut.
The thud echoed like a gavel falling in an empty courtroom.
Behind those doors, three hundred guests remained paralyzed in silence.
Callum Voss stood in the center of the gilded hall.
His chest rose and fell in jagged, uneven breaths.
The white rose petals on the floor were crushed beneath his Italian leather shoes.
Sloane Mercer stepped closer to him.
Her scarlet silk dress rustled against the linen tablecloths.
She touched his arm with manicured fingers.
"Callum," she purred, her voice dripping with counterfeit warmth.
"She's gone."
"You don't have to pretend anymore."
Callum did not look at her.
His eyes were fixed on the champagne glass on the head table.
At the bottom of the crystal flute, Rosalind’s platinum wedding band rested in gold bubbles.
It looked like an artifact from a sunken ship.
"Don't touch me," Callum said.
His voice was dangerously quiet.
Sloane pulled her hand back as if burned.
"What?" she scoffed, tossing her dark curls.
"After everything we planned?"
"You promised me tonight would be the end of her."
"I told you to wait in the car," Callum snarled.
He turned on her, his dark eyes flashing with lethal fury.
"You struck my wife in front of the Commission."
"She isn't your wife anymore!" Sloane shrieked.
"She took off the ring!"
"She threw you away like yesterday's trash!"
Across the room, the private security guards did not move.
None of them stepped forward to take Callum's coat.
None of them moved to escort Sloane out.
Callum raised his hand to summon his personal driver, Santos.
Santos did not look at him.
Santos was looking down at his phone.
"Santos," Callum barked. "Bring the car around."
Santos took a slow, deliberate breath.
He slipped the phone into his pocket.
Then he looked directly into the eyes of the man he had served for twenty years.
"Mr. Voss," Santos said quietly.
"Mr. Gideon Voss just canceled your transport clearance."
Callum froze.
"What did you say?"
"Master Gideon holds the operational accounts," Santos answered evenly.
"The contracts for the executive protection detail are signed through Blackwood Logistics."
"Not Voss Enterprises."
A cold spike of adrenaline pierced Callum’s gut.
Blackwood Logistics belonged to Rosalind.
It had always belonged to Rosalind.
For thirty years, Callum had worn the crown of the Chicago syndicate.
He had signed treaties, ordered executions, and collected tribute from seven states.
He had forgotten whose bloodline provided the initial army.
He had forgotten who owned the paper the empire was printed on.
"Call him," Callum ordered through clenched teeth.
"Call Gideon right now."
"He blocked your frequency, sir," Santos replied.
The driver turned and walked toward the staff exit without asking for permission.
Sloane’s face tightened with sudden irritation.
"Who cares about an old driver?" she snapped.
"You have your own guards!"
"Call Dante! Dante Sterling said his men would back us!"
Callum’s head snapped toward her.
The room seemed to drop ten degrees.
"What did you just say?" Callum whispered.
Sloane blinked, catching herself too late.
Her throat swallowed convulsively.
"I... I meant—"
"Why did you speak Dante Sterling's name?" Callum stepped into her space.
Dante Sterling was the head of the rival Detroit syndicate.
A predator who had spent five years trying to seize the Chicago shipping corridors.
A man Callum had sworn to slaughter on sight.
Sloane stepped backward until her spine hit the mahogany buffet table.
"He's a friend," she stammered.
"He offered help if things got messy tonight."
Before Callum could speak, his private phone vibrated against his ribs.
It was an encrypted ping from an unknown number.
Callum pulled the screen up.
It was a live audio intercept.
Piers’s voice came through the speaker, crisp, detached, and chillingly young.
"Check your six, old man," Piers said through the audio link.
Callum turned toward the floor-to-ceiling glass windows facing Michigan Avenue.
Three hundred yards away, on the roof of the art museum across the street.
A single red laser dot pierced through the tinted glass.
It painted a crimson circle over Callum's sternum.
Sloane saw the light.
She didn't scream for Callum.
She screamed and threw herself behind the nearest marble pillar to save her own skin.
Callum did not move.
He stood in the crosshairs of an assassin's rifle, staring at the empty red rose arch.
Through the phone, Piers's cold voice continued:
"Beckett just took out the sniper Sterling hired to kill you tonight."
"You're welcome, Father."
May you like
"Now start running."
"Because when Beckett finishes with the sniper, he's coming for Sloane."
