Chapter 5 - The Caught Thread
Inside the library, Dominic Serrano poured himself two fingers of scotch. His hand was shaking slightly—a rare sign of stress for a man who had commanded cities and silent armies for two decades. The loss of his father's watch had unmoored him more than he cared to admit. It was the last link to a time before the bloodshed, before the deals, before the paranoia.
He lifted the crystal glass to his lips. As he did, his eyes caught the piece of folded cream stationery beneath the coaster.
Dominic froze.
He set the glass down slowly. The paper was clearly from his personal stationary set—heavy cotton stock imported from Milan. He picked it up, unfolded it, and read the eight handwritten words.
Your sister never left New Orleans. Check the cellar.
Dominic’s breathing slowed to a terrifying standstill. His dark eyes locked onto the paper, analyzing every line of the handwriting. It wasn't Reyes’s script. It wasn't his sister’s. It was disciplined, sharp, and restrained.
He stood up slowly, reaching into his desk drawer and pulling out a sleek, snub-nosed revolver. He checked the cylinder, slipped it into his jacket pocket, and walked out of the library, his face turned to stone.
Meanwhile, in the dimly lit courtyard near the staff quarters, Zora was preparing for her final trip to the cellar. She had gathered a small bag of emergency medical supplies and a heavy iron wrench from the maintenance shed. If Dominic didn't act on the note, she was going to break Elena’s chain herself and take her chances on the river road.
As she stepped out into the damp night air, a heavy hand grabbed her upper arm with crushing force, pulling her violently into the shadow of the brick archway.
Zora choked back a gasp as she was slammed against the cold masonry.
Reyes stood inches from her face. His tactical flashlight was shoved under her chin, blinding her with its harsh white glare. In his other hand, he held a sleek black tablet showing real-time security footage.
"You've been a busy little girl, Zora," Reyes sneered, his voice dripping with venom.
Zora’s mind raced, her body tensing. "I don't know what you're talking about, Mr. Reyes. I’m just taking out the kitchen linens."
"Liars get put in the ground in this city," Reyes whispered, stepping closer, pinning her against the wall with his forearm pressed across her chest. He tilted the tablet screen toward her. "I ran a deep audit on the secondary camera feeds from last night—the ones that don't route through the main security hub. You think you're smart, don't you? Slipping out to the old storm cellar at one in the morning."
Zora’s blood went cold, but she kept her gaze locked onto his cold gray eyes. "Release me."
"I checked your background today, Zora," Reyes continued, ignoring her command. "A maid from Atlanta. Sister in college. Mother drowning in medical debt. You were supposed to be an invisible body to mop the floors. How did you find her?"
"The dog," Zora said, her voice deadpan, devoid of fear. "The dog you were too arrogant to listen to."
Reyes’s face twisted in rage. He drew his sidearm, pressing the cold steel barrel directly beneath Zora’s ear. "It doesn't matter now. I'm moving Elena tonight. Chicago's transport team is already at the perimeter gates. And as for you... you’re going to have an unfortunate slip into the river."
Before Reyes could pull the trigger, a sharp, feral growl tore through the silence of the courtyard.
Out from the dark shadows of the boxwood hedges launched a gray-and-white blur. Buster hit Reyes with full speed, his jaws clamping down tightly onto the wrist of Reyes’s gun hand.
Reyes screamed in pain, dropping his sidearm as he stumbled backward into the gravel. The gun clattered across the stone floor.
"Get off me, you damn beast!" Reyes yelled, swinging his heavy fist down onto the dog's ribs.
Buster absorbed the blow with a pained yelp, but he refused to let go, his teeth sinking deeper into the leather and flesh of Reyes’s wrist.
"Zora! Run!"
Zora didn't run away. She dived forward, grabbing the fallen revolver from the gravel floor. She scrambled back, bringing the heavy firearm up with both hands, aiming it straight at Reyes’s chest.
"Let the dog go, Reyes!" Zora shouted, her voice echoing across the courtyard.
Reyes froze, his arm still locked in Buster’s jaws, his eyes wide as he looked at the Black maid holding a loaded weapon with unwavering precision.
"You don't have the guts," Reyes hissed, blood dripping from his wounded arm.
"Try me," Zora said, her finger tightening against the trigger.
"What is the meaning of this?"
A cold, authoritative voice cut through the damp air like a thunderclap.
Dominic Serrano stood at the entrance of the courtyard. In his right hand, he held his own weapon. Behind him stood three senior guards—men who answered directly to the Serrano bloodline, not to Reyes's security firm.
Dominic’s eyes swept over the scene: Reyes bleeding on the ground, the battered stray dog standing defensively in front of Zora, and the quiet maid pointing a firearm at his chief of security.
May you like
Dominic held up the folded piece of cream stationery in his left hand.
"Reyes," Dominic said, his voice terrifyingly calm. "Where is my sister?"
