Chapter 7
The Blackwood cabin was less of a cabin and more of a brutalist, concrete fortress built into the side of a jagged mountain. It was surrounded by impenetrable pine forests and miles of treacherous, icy roads. The three-car convoy arrived just as the winter sun began to dip below the horizon, casting long, eerie shadows across the snow.
Silas’s men immediately secured the perimeter, setting up patrols and checking the heavy steel shutters that protected the windows. Inside, the safehouse was stark but functional, heated by a massive central stone fireplace and powered by an underground generator.
Mara sat on a leather sofa in the main living area, wrapping a thick wool blanket around Theo. The toddler had finally exhausted himself from crying and was now sleeping soundly against her chest. Bruno lay at her feet, his ears twitching at every sound from outside, acting as a relentless guardian.
Silas walked into the room, having discarded his suit jacket. He wore only his dark turtleneck, his shoulder holster still strapped across his broad chest. He carried two mugs of hot tea, handing one to Mara before sitting on the coffee table directly across from her.
"Drink," Silas instructed softly. "You're in shock."
Mara took the mug with trembling hands, the warmth seeping into her frozen fingers. "Thank you. Is... is the estate lost?"
"No," Silas replied, his angular jaw set firmly. "Dante repelled the breach. The Lanes suffered heavy casualties and retreated to their compound. But the war has officially begun. The streets are going to run red for the next few weeks."
Mara looked down into her tea, the reflection of the fire dancing on the dark liquid. "Vincent Lane won't stop until he has me and Bruno. He needs blood to wash away the humiliation his daughter suffered."
"He will never have you," Silas stated, his voice a low, vibrating rumble of absolute authority. "You are mine to protect."
The possessive phrasing made Mara’s breath catch. She looked up, her clear, expressive eyes meeting his intense dark gaze. The boundary between a mafia boss and a maid had been entirely incinerated in the fires of the morning's attack.
Before Silas could elaborate, the encrypted satellite phone on the kitchen counter began to ring. The shrill sound echoed sharply off the concrete walls.
Silas stood up, his demeanor instantly shifting back to the cold, calculating predator. He walked over and picked up the receiver, pressing a button to put it on speaker so his lieutenants in the room could hear.
"Silas," the raspy, furious voice of Vincent Lane crackled through the speaker. "I hope you enjoyed your morning."
"You missed, Vincent," Silas replied coolly, leaning against the counter. "And now you've exposed your men. I'm going to slaughter them all."
"You’re hiding in the mountains like a coward," Vincent spat. "I'm offering you one last parley. Hand over the maid. Hand over the dog. Apologize to Veronica in front of the Commission, and I will call off my hitters. If you refuse, I will burn your city to the ground, and I will hunt you to the ends of the earth."
Mara closed her eyes, a tear slipping down her cheek. She was the catalyst for all this death.
Silas didn't hesitate for a microsecond. He looked across the room, his eyes locking onto Mara’s trembling form.
May you like
"Bring a match, Vincent," Silas said, his voice dripping with lethal venom. "Because if you ever speak her name again, I will personally carve your heart out of your chest."
Silas slammed the phone down, ending the call. The declaration was absolute. The Ashford syndicate was going to war to the bitter end, all for the sake of a gentle maid and a loyal dog.
