Chương 17 - The Ghost from the Ohio FloodplainsThe private parlor smelled of old tobacco and lemon polish, a quiet, sunlit room usually reserved for confidential syndicate meetings or delicate family disputes.
When I pushed open the double doors with Ronan walking closely behind like a protective shadow, a tall, gaunt man in a worn-out trench coat stood up from the velvet settee by the window. He looked older than I remembered—his hair entirely graying at the temples, deep worry lines carved around his mouth—but the unmistakable posture of my estranged biological uncle, Marcus Vance (no relation to the corrupt magistrate), hit me like a physical blow.
“Thea... oh, thank God,” Marcus breathed, taking a shaky step forward. His eyes welled with tears as he looked at me, scanning my face for bruises or phantom injuries. “I spent four years looking for you. I thought you died in that hospital fire in Ohio.”
I froze, unable to move a muscle. My voice locked tight in my throat.
Ronan didn't wait for me to speak. He moved with blinding speed, stepping directly between my uncle and me, his massive shoulders blocking Marcus’s path like a granite wall. The temperature in the room dropped ten degrees in a single second.
“You’re standing in my house, addressing my woman,” Ronan said, his voice dropping into that dark, lethal register that signaled a death sentence. “Identify yourself before I have my men throw you out the second-story window.”
Marcus blinked in sheer terror, staring up at the towering mafia boss. He raised his hands defensively, shaking his head. “I’m Marcus Vance! I’m her uncle! Her mother’s brother from Dayton! I’m not here to hurt her—I’ve been searching for my niece since the night her apartment flooded and burned down six years ago!”
Hearing those words, a collective gasp echoed in the room.
I looked down at my hands, the terrible memory rushing back like a tidal wave. Six years ago, before I ever met Julian Cain, before I entered the underground world of Ashport, my family home in Dayton had caught fire in the middle of a catastrophic river flood. My parents had perished in the blaze, and I had barely escaped with my life, carrying my mother's old social security documents and a burnt suitcase.
I had assumed Marcus had died in the river too.
“Uncle Marcus...” I whispered, the name tearing through my tight throat.
Ronan slowly stepped aside, keeping one hand hovering near his shoulder holster, watching Marcus with hawk-like suspicion. “Explain yourself, Vance. Quickly.”
Marcus rushed forward, grabbing my trembling hands. “Thea, honey, I survived the flood by clinging to a utility pole, but by the time I crawled back to shore, your apartment was completely gone. The police told me there were no survivors. I spent all my savings hiring private investigators across three states, tracking rumors that you might have run off with some wealthy rebel from Ashport—”
“How did you find me here?” I interrupted, my voice trembling with shock.
“A classified wire transfer,” Marcus said, pulling a crumpled paper receipt from his coat pocket and laying it on the table. “Two weeks ago, an anonymous trust fund deposited fifty thousand dollars into my old bank account in Dayton with a return address linked to Raven Hill Logistics. The bank manager called me immediately. I caught the first bus out here.”
I turned my head, staring wide-eyed at Ronan.
Ronan stood by the fireplace, his arms crossed over his chest, his stormy gray expression entirely unreadable.
“You tracked down my uncle?” I breathed, the realization washing over me.
“You spent four years carrying the weight of a ghost family, hiding behind a stolen identity because you thought you were completely alone in the world,” Ronan said quietly, his voice softening just a fraction as he looked down at me. “No one connected to my woman lives in poverty or obscurity in Ohio. It was time to close the loop.”
Marcus looked between Ronan Cain—the most feared crime lord in the tri-state area—and me, his jaw dropping in absolute disbelief as the puzzle pieces finally clicked together.
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“Thea... who is this man?” Marcus stammered, terrified.
“He’s the man who owns the gates, Uncle Marcus,” I said, a genuine, watery smile breaking across my face as I squeezed my uncle’s weathered hands. “And for the first time in six years... we’re finally safe.”
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