Chapter 4
The tension in the upstairs hallway was thick and suffocating. The bright, cinematic lighting offered no warmth as the husband and wife faced off, the remnants of their mafia marriage entirely shattered. Ryan stood blocking the path to the stairs, his luxury wristwatch gleaming under the lights, projecting the false confidence of an acting underboss who believed he had permanently stolen the throne.
"You don't get to make demands anymore, Emily," Ryan said, taking a slow step toward her. "While you were off in Europe, playing the grand diplomat, I was the one keeping the rival families from slitting our throats. I bled for this territory. I earned the right to run my house the way I see fit."
"You ran nothing," Emily countered, her voice dropping into a deadly, freezing register. "You sat in my chair and spent my money. You are a placeholder, Ryan. A temporary manager who let the power go to his head."
"The capos respect me!" Ryan shouted, his fair face flushing red. "They know I am the one making the hard choices! They look to me for leadership, not a ghost who abandoned her family for five years!"
"We will see who they respect when I put a bullet in your kneecap," Emily threatened, stepping forward, the sheer, intimidating presence of the Mafia boss returning in full force. "I am not asking you again. Where is my son?"
"He is learning how the real world works," Ryan sneered. "He is learning that privilege is earned, not given."
Before Emily could physically tear the answer from his throat, a sound interrupted them.
It was faint, muffled by the thick, soundproofed walls of the estate, but Emily’s sharp instincts caught it immediately. It was the distinct, abrasive sound of metal scraping against stone. It echoed from the backyard, slipping through a slightly cracked window at the end of the hall.
Emily froze. Her heart skipped a beat, a sickening wave of maternal intuition washing over her.
"What is that?" Emily asked, her eyes darting toward the window.
Ryan’s arrogant smirk faltered for a fraction of a second, his eyes shifting nervously. "It's nothing. Just the dogs in the yard. The handlers are feeding them."
"The dogs are kept in the eastern kennels," Emily said, her voice barely a whisper as the horrific realization began to dawn on her. "That sound came from the patio."
"Emily, stay here!" Ryan commanded, reaching out to grab her arm.
May you like
Emily violently swatted his hand away. "If you touch me again, you will lose the arm."
She didn't wait for his response. She shoved past him, her heels sinking into the carpet as she sprinted toward the grand staircase. The scraping sound echoed again, louder this time, a frantic, desperate rhythm that tore at her soul. She flew down the stairs, ignoring the confused stares of the capos in the dining room, and charged directly toward the back of the house.
