Chapter 3 - The Morning After
The smell of fresh coffee, toasted brioche, and sizzling bacon drifted through the halls of the Hayes estate at seven o'clock the next morning.
It was a sound and scent that had not existed in this house for six years. Usually, breakfast consisted of a black coffee for me and a silent plate of fruit for Ethan, served in the vast, quiet dining hall while I read intelligence reports on my tablet.
When I walked down the grand spiral staircase, dressed in a dark grey suit and crisp white shirt, I stopped at the entrance of the breakfast room.
The sight before me was chaotic.
Lily was sitting on a high booster chair, her chin smeared with strawberry jam, happily kicking her small legs while she swung a spoon through the air. Maya and Violet were arguing quietly over who got the last blueberry muffin, while Charlotte sat upright, carefully spreading butter on a slice of toast with the precision of a surgeon.
Evelyn was hovering near the sideboard, looking exhausted, her dark auburn hair tied back in a loose, hasty braid. She was trying desperately to keep her daughters quiet, casting nervous glances at the heavy wooden doors as if expecting my security guards to storm in and throw them out for making noise.
"Girls, please, lower your voices," Evelyn whispered frantically, wiping jam off Lily's cheek with a napkin. "Mr. Hayes was very kind to let us sleep here, but this is his home. We must be polite—"
"It's fine, Mrs. Vance."
I stepped into the room.
Instantly, the four girls looked up. Charlotte set her butter knife down; Violet and Maya stopped arguing over the muffin; and Lily let out a high-pitched gasp, waving her jam-stained spoon directly at me.
"Good morning, Daddy!" Lily chirped happily.
Evelyn nearly dropped the napkin she was holding. Her face flushed a brilliant, deep crimson. "Lily! No! Sweetheart, we discussed this last night—"
"It's alright," I said smoothly, stepping up to the table. I looked down at the four-year-old, taking a clean cloth from the sideboard and gently wiping the rest of the jam off her chin before sitting down at the head of the table. "Good morning, Lily. Did you sleep well?"
"The bed was huge!" Lily beamed, holding her small arms out wide. "It was like sleeping on a cloud! And there was a big bear stuffed animal!"
"That belonged to Ethan when he was small," I said softly.
Speaking of my son, the double doors pushed open, and Ethan walked into the room. He took one look at the bustling, noisy table, hesitation flashing across his young face. He was used to quiet, solemn mornings where we discussed his tutoring schedule or my business meetings.
"Sit down, Ethan," I said, gesturing to the empty chair beside Charlotte.
Ethan moved carefully, pulling out the heavy leather chair and sitting down. He pulled a plate toward himself, picking up a fork.
Charlotte turned her head, observing him with those sharp, hazel eyes she had inherited from her mother. "You look like your dad," she noted.
Ethan looked at her, his posture stiffening slightly. "I am his son."
"We know," Maya chimed in, leaning across the table with a mouth full of muffin. "He's our dad today too."
Ethan nearly choked on his orange juice. He set his glass down with a sharp clatter, looking at me with wide, demanding eyes. "Father... what exactly happened at that café yesterday?"
Before I could answer, Victor stepped into the room. He didn't say a word, but his posture was rigid, his hand resting casually near his coat jacket—a signal I recognized instantly. Something was wrong.
I wiped my mouth with a linen napkin and stood up calmly. "Ethan, stay here with Mrs. Vance and the girls. I have a brief meeting in my study."
Evelyn looked up at me, panic instantly resurfacing in her eyes. "Alexander... is it Mercer?"
"Mercer is currently being processed by the Cook County Sheriff's department," I replied, using her first name for the first time. "It is not him. Eat your breakfast, Evelyn. You are safe here."
I followed Victor down the long, wood-paneled hallway into my private study. The heavy oak door clicked shut behind us, cutting off the bright, cheerful noises of the breakfast room.
Inside, my chief lieutenant, Marcus—a man who had managed my security network for fifteen years—was standing near my desk. His face was solemn, holding a thick leather folder.
"Report, Marcus," I commanded, stepping behind my desk.
"David Mercer was a small fish, boss," Marcus began, his voice low and raspy. "When we seized his financial files last night, we found something much larger. Mercer wasn't operating on his own money when he bought the mortgage on Vance Logistics. He was funded by a third party."
I narrowed my eyes. "Who?"
Marcus opened the folder, laying a series of bank transfer documents on my desk. "The Moretti syndicate."
A cold, familiar stillness settled over me.
Dominic Moretti was the leader of Chicago's southern territory—a ruthless, ambitious crime boss who had been eyeing my northern territories for the last three years. We had maintained a cold, tense truce, but Moretti was always looking for a weakness, a back door into my infrastructure.
"Why would Moretti care about a small commercial shipping firm like Vance Logistics?" I asked, examining the financial signatures on the documents.
"Because Vance Logistics owns twelve deep-water docks along the Chicago River," Marcus explained, pointing to a map attached to the file. "Docks that are exempt from federal customs inspections due to an old municipal charter granted to Evelyn Vance's grandfather sixty years ago. If Moretti gets control of those docks through Mercer's mortgage foreclosure, he can slip illegal shipments straight into the heart of the city without going through your territory."
I leaned back in my leather chair, steepling my fingers beneath my chin.
The pieces of the puzzle clicked into place with terrifying clarity. Mercer hadn't just been harassing Evelyn Vance because he wanted a wife; he was a hired dog meant to break her, force her into a marriage, and take control of her grandfather's shipping charter for the Moretti family.
And yesterday afternoon, four terrified little girls had crawled under my table and dragged the entire weight of the Hayes empire directly between Moretti and his prize.
"Does Moretti know I took Evelyn and the girls?" I asked.
"He knows now," Marcus repliedgrimly. "Mercer sang like a canary when our boys picked him up. Moretti knows the Vance family is at your estate. Word from the south side is that Moretti is furious. He thinks you stepped in deliberately to steal his prize."
A cold, bitter smile touched my lips.
"Let him think whatever he wants," I said softly, my voice laced with lethal intent. "Moretti made a mistake the moment he allowed his men to threaten those children."
"What are your orders, boss?" Marcus asked, his hand drifting toward his shoulder holster. "Do we launch a strike on his perimeter?"
"No," I replied, standing up and smoothing my jacket. "Moretti wants a war over a shipping charter. He doesn't realize that I am not fighting for a dock."
May you like
I looked toward the heavy wooden door of my study, hearing the distant, faint sound of Lily's high-pitched laughter echoing down the hallway.
"He threatened my family," I said quietly. "And Dominic Moretti is about to learn what happens when you touch something that belongs to Alexander Hayes."
