Chapter 2 - The Sins of the Butler
The stone walls of the DeLuca estate’s sub-basement were cold, damp, and smelled of century-old earth.
Julian stood at the foot of the concrete stairs. The sudden revelation of his daughter’s existence and the final, brutal confirmation of Claire’s death had torn his soul into bloody shreds, but a terrifying, ice-cold clarity had settled over him. He was a father now. And someone in this house had just tried to murder his world.
In the center of the dimly lit wine cellar, bound to an iron chair, sat Thomas Bell.
The old butler’s black coat was torn at the shoulder, his silver hair disheveled, but his expression was eerily serene. Marcus stood behind him, brass knuckles glinting under the single hanging bulb.
"Leave us, Marcus," Julian said, his voice flat, devoid of emotion.
"Boss, he's dangerous," Marcus warned. "We found a encrypted satellite phone in his quarters and three hundred thousand dollars in bearer bonds."
"Out," Julian repeated.
Marcus hesitated, then nodded, stepping back up the stairs and heavy iron door clicking shut behind him.
Julian walked slowly around the seated old man, his boots crunching on the gravel floor. He stopped directly in front of Thomas, looking down at the man who had been a second father to him after his own father’s assassination twelve years ago.
"Thirty-two years, Thomas," Julian said quietly. "You carried me on your shoulders when I was five. You taught me how to shoot a rifle when I was fourteen. You held my mother’s hand when she died of cancer."
Thomas looked up, his blue eyes cloudy but calm. "And I would have given my life for you then, Julian. I loved you like my own son."
"Then why did you poison the champagne?" Julian asked, his voice cracking slightly. "Why did you try to kill Cassandra?"
Thomas let out a bitter, raspy laugh that echoed against the damp stone. "Kill Cassandra? You still don't see it, do you, boy? The poison wasn't meant for that vanity-obsessed dancer. The flute with the digitalis was meant for you."
Julian’s breath hitched.
"Cassandra was thirsty," Thomas explained softly, a chilling smile touching his thin lips. "She was triumphant after her little display of fake generosity. She grabbed the glass intended for the master of the house before you could lay a finger on it. She drank your death, Julian."
"Why?" Julian roared, grabbing Thomas by his lapels and lifting the heavy chair an inch off the ground. "Why would you turn against me?! I trusted you with my life! With my family!"
"Family?" Thomas spat, his serene composure shattering into venomous rage. "The DeLuca family! My family served yours for three generations! My son... my beautiful boy, Anthony... worked for your father's crew! And when the Moretti syndicate ambushed your father's convoy twelve years ago, your father used Anthony as a human shield! My boy bled out in an alley while your father took the armored car home!"
Julian stared at Thomas, stunned. "My father... died in that ambush."
"He died three months later in a hospital bed surrounded by doctors!" Thomas yelled, tears of old, rotten hatred spilling down his wrinkled face. "My son died alone on the cold asphalt at twenty-two years old! Your father bought my silence with a pension and a promise that you would protect me. But every day I buttoned your shirts, every day I poured your whiskey, I saw the blood of my son on your hands!"
Julian slowly let the chair drop back to the floor. The weight of generations of violence, secrets, and blood money pressed down on his shoulders like a mountain.
"You waited twelve years?" Julian asked quietly.
"I waited until you built this empire," Thomas sneered. "I waited until you thought you were safe, until you fell in love with your pretty socialite, until you were ready to take full control of the Chicago docks. I sold the layout of this estate to the Commission six months ago. They paid me millions to put you in the ground. Tonight was supposed to be the end of the DeLuca bloodline."
Julian took a deep breath, stepping back into the shadows. "The Commission..."
"They know about the maid's daughter, Julian," Thomas sneered, a wicked, triumphant grin spreading across his face. "I saw the way you looked at that child when she danced. I saw the look on Nora Bennett's face. I sent a photograph of the girl to Don Carmine Moretti an hour before the party started. By now, the Moretti family knows that the mighty Julian DeLuca has a soft, vulnerable little heart hidden in a four-year-old girl."
Julian’s heart seized. The cold rage that had sustained him vanished, replaced by an absolute, terrifying panic.
Lily.
Without another word to Thomas, Julian pulled his customized SIG Sauer from his holster, racked the slide, and handed it to Marcus, who had just reopened the cellar door.
"Lock him in the vault," Julian ordered Marcus, his eyes blazing with lethal intent. "Don't kill him yet. I want him alive until this is over."
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"Where are you going, boss?"
"To secure my daughter," Julian said, sprinting up the stairs.
