Chapter 12 - The Ghosts of Chicago
The fallout from Viktor’s message was immediate. Ronan refused to let the threat ruin the progress they had made, but precautions had to be taken. The open, airy atmosphere of the Vale estate was silently reinforced. Bulletproof glass was installed behind the elegant sheer curtains, and heavily armed guards dressed in civilian clothing blended into the shadows of the rose gardens.
Seraphina tried to maintain a sense of normalcy for the children playing in the estate, but the tension in the house was thick enough to cut with a knife. She spent her afternoons organizing the packing for their move to Maine, but every time she wrapped a fragile porcelain vase, she wondered if they would ever actually make it to the cliffs overlooking the sea.
One evening, while Ronan was deep in a strategy meeting with his security team in the basement bunker, Seraphina received a mysterious phone call on her private line—a number only a handful of people possessed.
"Seraphina," a trembling, familiar voice whispered on the other end.
Seraphina’s breath caught. "Clara? Is that you?" Clara had been her closest friend during her days as a servant, the one who had shared stale bread with her in the cold basement kitchen before Ronan changed her destiny.
"You need to leave Chicago, Seraphina," Clara begged, her voice cracking with pure terror. "They came to my apartment. Men with tattoos... they asked about you. They asked about your routine, where you buy your groceries, where the children go to school. I didn't tell them anything, I swear! But they said... they said they have someone inside the Vale estate. A mole."
Before Seraphina could ask another question, the line went dead.
She stood frozen in the middle of the bright, white oak kitchen. The kitchen that had once been a sanctuary now felt like a gilded cage. Someone inside the estate was a traitor. Someone who ate their food, took their wages, and smiled at their children was feeding information to the Russian mafia.
She ran down to the bunker, her heart hammering against her ribs. She burst through the heavy steel door, interrupting Ronan, Ethan, and Marcus who were staring at a digital map of the city’s shipping ports.
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"Ronan," she gasped, her face pale. "We have a mole. Clara just called me. Viktor knows everything. He knows our routines, and he has someone on the inside."
Ronan’s eyes turned to ice. He looked at Ethan, then at Marcus. Trust was the currency of survival in their world, and suddenly, the bank was empty. The ghost of his dark past had infiltrated their bright new present, and the psychological warfare had officially begun.
