Chapter 6 - The Visitor in the Conservatory
The glass-enclosed conservatory at the back of the Gloucester estate was the only room in the fortress that let in the raw, unfiltered light of the ocean.
I sat on a wrought-iron bench surrounded by thick ferns, orchids, and heavy-leafed tropical plants, staring out at the grey, churning fury of the Atlantic through the reinforced glass panes. The revelation about Nolan’s debts—about the Russian syndicate and the target painted squarely on my back—was still echoing in my brain like a recurring siren.
My brother hadn't just been foolish; he had been reckless, trading my life not to save a shipping company, but to pay off monsters he never should have dealt with in the first place.
"You shouldn't be out here alone," a deep, calm voice said from the doorway.
I didn't need to turn around to know it was Dominic. I could feel the shift in the air pressure, the familiar scent of cedar and gun oil that seemed to follow him everywhere.
"Your guards are stationed every ten feet outside the glass," I said flatly, keeping my eyes fixed on the horizon where a solitary fishing boat fought against the white-capped waves. "And the doors are bolted from the inside. I'm as safe as a bird in a golden cage."
Dominic walked quietly across the stone floor, stopping beside my bench. He didn't sit down. He rested one hand on the back of the iron seat, looking out at the ocean with me.
"The Russians aren't patient, Evelyn," Dominic said, his tone devoid of panic, carrying only the weight of strategic calculation. "They sent a message to my perimeter guard twenty minutes ago. They want a meeting."
I turned my head sharply to look at him. "A meeting? With who? You or me?"
"Both of us," Dominic replied. "They want to verify if the marriage between the head of the Vale syndicate and Hart’s daughter is legitimate, or if I bought damaged goods to steal their leverage."
Damaged goods.
The phrase stung like a slap across the face, but I kept my chin high, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing me flinch. "And what did you tell them?"
"I told them to go to hell," Dominic said simply. "Nobody summons a Vale. But in this game, ignoring a wolf only makes it circle faster. Which is why you are going to learn how to shoot before the sun sets."
I blinked, staring at him as if he had spoken in a foreign language. "Shoot? Are you insane? I've never touched a firearm in my life. I'm a pianist and a former art history student!"
"You were a pianist," Dominic corrected, his gray eyes pinning me in place. "Now you're my wife. And in the Russian syndicate's playbook, the easiest way to break a boss is to put a bullet through his wife's heart. I am not losing you, Evelyn, and I am certainly not going to spend my life checking under your car for pipe bombs."
Before I could protest further, Dominic reached into his jacket, pulled out a small, sleek Walther PPK pistol, and placed it coldly on the wrought-iron table between us.
"Pick it up," he commanded.
May you like
"I won't."
"Pick it up, Evelyn," Dominic repeated, his voice dropping into that terrifying, low register that brooked no argument. "Or I will physically wrap my hands around yours and force you to pull the trigger until you stop being afraid."
