Chapter 2 - The South Wing Sanctuary
The south wing suite of the Mercer Estate was bathed in the warm, amber glow of a late afternoon sun streaming through tall, arched stained-glass windows.
For three days, the shift in our reality had been so jarring that I felt as though I were walking through a dream.
We were no longer confined to the four white walls of the basement quarters. We were no longer forced to eat cold leftovers from the staff kitchen or duck behind service corridors whenever heavy footsteps echoed down the hallways. The south wing suite was a sanctuary of soft velvet armchairs, antique walnut dressers, and a massive king-sized bed covered in ivory silk linens.
A small wooden playhouse had been placed near the window for Brinley, stocked with brand-new coloring books, wooden building blocks, and a pristine, plush brown teddy bear with two bright glass eyes—a gift that had arrived anonymously on our doorstep on our second morning in the suite.
"Look, Mommy!" Brinley giggled, sitting on the plush Persian rug, holding up a drawing of a giant yellow sun with a dark, scribbled figure standing beneath it. "I drew Mr. Jude! He’s wearing his big coat!"
I sat on the edge of the velvet armchair, a cup of hot chamomile tea resting on the side table. I forced a gentle smile, though my mind was consumed by a quiet storm of anxiety. "It’s a very nice drawing, sweetie. But remember what Mommy told you—we shouldn't bother Mr. Jude while he’s working."
"He's not working," Brinley declared with three-year-old certainty, pointing toward the open balcony doors. "He’s standing on the big grass."
My heart did a quick, nervous flip.
I stood up and walked quietly toward the tall glass balcony doors that overlooked the estate’s private gardens.
Below, amidst the manicured hedge mazes and stone fountains, Jude Mercer was walking slowly along the gravel path. He wore a simple dark charcoal sweater and black trousers, his hands tucked into his pockets. Standing five paces behind him was Victor Vance—not my missing husband, but Victor Moretti, the ruthless head of the Federal Hill syndicate who had forced me into this nightmare three weeks ago.
Moretti was short, rotund, and dressed in an ostentatious leather coat, gesturing wildly with his hands as he argued with Jude. Two heavily armed enforcers stood near the garden gates, watching the exchange with tense posture.
I leaned closer to the balcony railing, staying hidden behind the heavy velvet curtains, my heart hammering against my ribs.
"I paid fifty grand for that Vance contract, Mercer!" Moretti’s voice carried up through the quiet garden air, laced with raspy rage. "His wife belongs in my processing ring until the debt is cleared! You can't just declare a regional default because the kid wandered into your office!"
Jude stopped walking. He didn't turn around immediately. He slowly raised his left hand, taking a silver cigarette case from his pocket, lighting a single cigarette with a quiet snap of his lighter.
"Victor," Jude said, his voice quiet, yet carrying a weight that silenced the garden instantly. "Do you know why my father built these stone walls forty years ago?"
Moretti scowled. "What the hell does your father have to do with my money?"
"He built them," Jude continued, blowing a thin stream of gray smoke into the crisp autumn air, "because he understood that the moment you let wild dogs inside your gates, they forget who owns the yard."
Jude turned around slowly, his dark eyes fixing onto Moretti with an expression of lethal composure.
"Nora Vance and her daughter are under my personal protection," Jude stated, his tone devoid of any negotiation. "If I see your men near my estate gates again, I won't just revoke your harbor pier leases, Victor. I will release the tax audit records for your Providence logistics firms directly to the Federal Attorney's office."
Moretti went red in the face, his fists clenching at his sides. "You're protecting a rat’s wife! Tristan Vance sold your manifest drives to the Philadelphia syndicate! He’s hiding in Boston right now, living like a king on your operational codes!"
My hand flew to my mouth. I gasped softly behind the curtain.
Boston.
Tristan was in Boston. He hadn't just abandoned us; he was actively collaborating with Jude’s worst enemies while leaving his daughter and me to face the deadly fallout.
Below, Jude’s eyes narrowed into dangerous slits. "If Tristan Vance is in Boston, my team will find him. But his wife knew nothing about his betrayal."
"She’s his wife!" Moretti snarled. "She’s leverage!"
Jude took two slow, deliberate steps toward Moretti, towering over the shorter mob boss until Moretti was forced to lean back to look him in the eye.
"Touch her," Jude whispered, his voice dropping into a register of sheer, unadulterated terror, "and I will tear your syndicate apart piece by piece. Now get off my land."
Moretti opened his mouth to spit out another curse, but the cold, emotionless stare in Jude’s eyes broke his resolve. Swearing under his breath, Moretti turned on his heel and stormed toward the garden gates, his two enforcers scrambling to follow him.
Jude stood alone on the gravel path for a long moment, watching the heavy iron gates slam shut.
Then, slowly, he raised his head, his dark gaze traveling straight up toward the second-floor balcony—directly toward the shadow behind the velvet curtain where I was standing.
He knew I was there. He had known the entire time.
Instead of turning away, Jude dropped his cigarette onto the gravel, crushed it beneath his heel, and gestured with a simple, firm movement of his hand.
Come down.
My stomach churned with a mixture of terror and an electric, undeniable pull. I turned back to Brinley, who was happily stacking wooden blocks in her playhouse.
"Brinley, stay inside the room for a few minutes, okay? Mommy needs to talk to Mr. Jude in the garden."
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"Bring Mr. Jude a cookie!" Brinley called out brightly without looking up from her blocks. "He likes the chocolate ones!"
I took a deep breath, adjusted the collar of my simple wool sweater—a garment that had been placed in my wardrobe alongside high-end civilian clothes—and walked out of the suite, down the grand marble staircase, and into the sunlit garden.
