Chapter 9
The air in the pantry suddenly felt thick, heavy with the terrifying implication of Clarice’s words. If she had not acted alone, it meant someone within Matthias’s inner circle—someone with high-level security clearance and access to the mansion’s blueprints—had betrayed him.
Matthias stepped closer to Clarice, his imposing frame blocking out the overhead lights. The small neck tattoo above his collar seemed to pulse as his muscles locked in tension.
“Who gave you the architectural blueprints to the hidden Prohibition corridors? Who disabled the security cameras in the west wing on the night she vanished?”
Clarice let out a bitter, hysterical laugh, her chest heaving beneath her ruined evening gown. “Your empire is built on sand, Matthias! You spend all your time looking for enemies across the city, and you don't even see the knives pointed at your back in your own boardroom!”
One of the massive enforcers stepped forward, raising a heavy, leather-gloved hand to strike her for her insolence, but Matthias held up a single tattooed finger. The guard immediately backed down. Matthias wanted the information, and he knew pain would only make a fanatic shut down.
“Do you think whoever helped you will come to your rescue now, Clarice? Do you believe a traitor who would sell out my wife won't abandon you the second the walls close in?”
Clarice swallowed hard, the reality of her isolation finally penetrating her frantic mind. She looked at the iron vault where Helen had been kept, then back to the mafia boss.
“If I tell you, you let me walk. You put me on a plane to Europe with enough money to disappear. That’s the deal, Matthias. You want the rat? You buy the trap.”
Matthias rested his hands on his hips, his thick, wavy hair casting shadows over his forehead. He looked at her with a profound, freezing contempt.
“Are you in any position to dictate terms to the man who holds your life in his hands? Will you give me a name, or will you lose a finger for every minute of silence you maintain?”
Clarice shuddered, her eyes wide with terror. She knew Matthias Rook never made idle threats. He would dismantle her piece by piece on the kitchen floor if she refused. She closed her eyes, tears leaking down her rosy cheeks, realizing she had entirely lost the game.
“He told me it would be easy,” Clarice whispered, her voice trembling. “He said you were too distracted by the territory wars downtown. He said if we got rid of Helen, you would rely on me emotionally, and he would control the syndicate financially through our marriage.”
Matthias leaned in closer, his voice a lethal, vibrating hum.
“What is the name of the man who signed his own death warrant by touching my family?”
Clarice opened her eyes, looking directly into Matthias’s cold, observant gaze. She took a deep breath, preparing to drop the bomb that would tear the syndicate apart from the inside out.
“It was...”
Before the name could leave her lips, a deafening, catastrophic explosion rocked the foundation of the mansion.
May you like
The blast was so powerful it threw Matthias violently to the floor. The stainless steel prep tables buckled, and the heavy wooden shelves of the pantry collapsed, sending hundreds of glass wine bottles shattering across the tiles. A shockwave of heat, dust, and concussive force blew out the kitchen windows, plunging the room into chaotic, flashing darkness.
The security breach Clarice had warned him about wasn't just a past event. It was happening right now.
