Chapter 11 - The Heirloom in the Fire
Nathan intercepted Evelyn mid-lunge, shoving her back against the heavy mahogany doors.
“Don't you ever touch her,” Nathan roared, pinning his ex-wife by the shoulders.
Evelyn struggled, her mask of cool superiority shattering into desperate panic. “You owe me, Nathan! I gave you a daughter! You can't just leave me with nothing!”
“You left us with nothing!” Nathan shouted, his voice echoing off the vaulted ceiling. “You let another woman burn in your car! You let our daughter cry herself to sleep for three years thinking you were dead!”
He released her, stepping back as if she were toxic.
“You aren't getting a dime,” Nathan said coldly. “And if you ever come near this house again, I won't call the FBI. I’ll call the families of the cartel members you stole that five million from. I’m sure they’d love to know where you are.”
Evelyn went entirely white. The cartel wouldn't arrest her; they would disappear her.
She looked at Lily, then at Nathan, realizing she had entirely lost.
Without another word, Evelyn pulled her coat tight and fled out the front door, running into the dark Chicago night.
Nathan stood in the foyer, his chest heaving. The ghost of his past was finally, completely banished.
Lily walked over to him and gently placed her hand on his chest, right over his heart.
“Are you okay?” she asked softly.
Nathan let out a long, ragged breath and pulled her into his arms. “I am now.”
But the night wasn't over.
As they stood in the quiet foyer, a loud crash came from the back of the house. Glass shattering in the kitchen.
Nathan instantly drew his weapon, pushing Lily behind him. “Stay behind me.”
They moved silently down the hallway.
In the kitchen, the moonlight illuminated a horrific scene. The back door was kicked in. Standing in the center of the room, holding a bleeding Marcus at gunpoint, were three men wearing tactical gear.
They weren't FBI. They weren't cartel.
They wore the insignia of the Blackwood syndicate.
“Drop the gun, Nathan,” a voice sneered from the shadows.
A man stepped into the light. It was Dante, Nathan’s oldest cousin and the man Nathan had appointed to manage the legitimate side of the business after surrendering the shipping routes.
“Dante?” Nathan lowered his weapon slightly, stunned. “What is this?”
“This is a hostile takeover, cousin,” Dante smiled, gesturing with his pistol. “You got soft. You gave up the docks. You fell in love with a deaf maid. The Capos aren't happy. They decided you’re no longer fit to lead the family.”
“I disbanded the illicit operations,” Nathan growled. “There is no family left to lead.”
“There’s the bank accounts,” Dante countered. “And the real estate. But I can't access the master trust without the Blackwood family heirloom. The signet ring. Hand it over, Nathan, and I let the girl and the kid live.”
Nathan’s jaw tightened. The signet ring contained a microchip with the biometric encryption keys to the entire Blackwood fortune.
“The ring is in my safe upstairs,” Nathan lied smoothly.
“Then we go upstairs,” Dante said, pressing his gun against Marcus’s head.
Lily’s heart pounded. She knew the ring wasn't upstairs. She had seen Nathan put it inside a hollowed-out book in the kitchen pantry yesterday.
If Dante took them upstairs and found the safe empty, he would kill them all.
Lily needed a distraction.
She looked at the gas stove. The pilot light was off, but the gas knob was easily reachable.
She slowly, deliberately reached out and twisted the knob. A faint hissing sound began to fill the room.
Dante didn't hear it. He was too busy gloating at Nathan.
“You always were weak, Nathan,” Dante sneered. “You should have killed Evelyn yourself when you had the chance.”
Lily waited ten agonizing seconds. The smell of gas was growing stronger.
She caught Nathan’s eye and gave a tiny, almost imperceptible nod toward the stove.
Nathan’s eyes widened slightly as he smelled the gas. He understood immediately.
“You want the ring, Dante?” Nathan asked loudly, taking a step backward toward the hallway door. “Take it!”
May you like
Nathan didn't throw a ring. He pulled a silver Zippo lighter from his pocket, sparked it, and threw the open flame directly onto the gas stove.
A massive fireball erupted in the kitchen.
