Chapter 10
The weeks following the violent exposure at the ancestral mansion were a blur of blood and fire. Damon Mercer made good on his promise; the Cross syndicate was systematically dismantled, their territories absorbed, their loyalists either dead or sworn to the Mercer crest. Selena and Arthur remained locked deep within the subterranean cells of Damon’s primary estate, waiting for a final judgment that had yet to come.
The Mercer family had returned to their heavily fortified main compound. The sprawling mansion was now guarded like a military installation.
Miriam sat in the sunroom, wrapped in a thick wool blanket, watching Lily play on the expansive lawn under the watchful eyes of heavily armed guards. Miriam was healing, her fair skin regaining its rosy hue, but the watchful, haunted expression never entirely left her eyes. The trauma of the mirror room was a ghost that walked beside her every day.
Mara stood nearby, polishing a silver tea set, though her duties had shifted dramatically. She was no longer just a maid; she was Miriam's shadow and Lily's fiercely loyal protector. Damon had insisted she carry a small, concealed firearm in the pocket of her apron, a heavy, cold reminder of her new reality.
The heavy mahogany doors of the sunroom opened, and Damon entered. He wore a dark sweater, the small artistic tattoo above his collar visible. He walked over to Miriam and gently kissed the top of her head. She leaned into his touch, a fragile smile touching her lips.
"How are you feeling today?" Damon asked softly.
"Better," Miriam replied, resting her hand over his. "Lily asked about Auntie Selena today. I didn't know what to tell her."
Damon’s jaw tightened. "I will handle Selena. You don't ever have to think about her again."
He turned to Mara, offering her a nod of profound respect. "Mara. Silas is waiting for you in the kitchen. He has the new security protocols for Lily's outings."
"Yes, Mr. Mercer," Mara said, setting down her polishing cloth.
As Mara walked through the labyrinthine corridors toward the kitchen, she felt a strange, unsettling quiet in the house. The war was supposedly won, but the air felt too heavy, too expectant.
She pushed open the swinging doors to the massive kitchen. Silas wasn't there.
Instead, sitting casually at the long stainless steel island, was a man Mara had never seen before. He was older, with silver hair, wearing an impeccably tailored suit that radiated old money and ruthless power. A half-dozen Mercer guards lay unconscious on the floor around him.
Mara froze, her hand instinctively dropping to the heavy weight in her apron pocket.
"I wouldn't do that, my dear," the stranger said smoothly, taking a sip from a porcelain teacup. "You're a brave girl, but you're out of your depth."
"Who are you?" Mara demanded, her heart hammering against her ribs.
"My name is Victor Cross. Arthur's older brother. The one they exiled to Europe twenty years ago," the man smiled, a chilling, predatory expression. "Damon thought he eliminated the threat when he locked up my foolish niece and my weak brother. But all he did was leave a vacuum for the true head of the family to return."
Mara pulled her weapon, pointing it directly at the man's chest. Her hands shook, but her clear eyes were blazing.
"Get out of this house," Mara ordered.
Victor laughed softly, setting the teacup down. "Oh, I'm not here to fight, Mara. I'm here to deliver a message."
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He pushed a small, black envelope across the steel island.
"Tell Damon the game hasn't ended. It's only just begun. And next time, we won't put his wife in a wall. We'll put her in the ground."
