Chapter 6 – THE EXPLOSION OF SECRETS

“Get down!”

Adrian grabbed my waist and threw us both behind the heavy steel frame of the SUV.

A massive shockwave ripped through the quiet street.

The explosion shattered the windows of my apartment building. Car alarms screamed. The heat washed over us like a physical wall.

My ears were ringing.

Dust and debris rained down on the pavement.

Adrian shielded my body with his own.

“Ellie? Are you hit?” he demanded, his hands quickly checking my arms and shoulders.

“I’m okay,” I coughed, tasting ash. “I’m okay.”

Adrian peeked over the hood of the SUV.

The black sedan was already speeding away, disappearing into the city lights.

“That wasn’t Celeste,” Adrian growled, pulling me to my feet. “She’s in custody. And Marcus Whitmore is too careful to use explosives.”

“Then who was it?” I asked, terrified.

Adrian looked down at the street.

Lying in the center of the blast radius, miraculously untouched by the fire, was a small, child’s drawing.

It was burnt at the edges, but the image was clear.

It was a drawing of a black snake wrapped around a golden crown.

Adrian’s face went completely pale.

“The Viper,” he whispered.

“Who?”

“A rival syndicate family from New York. They’ve been trying to take over Chicago for a decade.”

He picked up the drawing.

“They didn’t want to kill us, Ellie. If they did, they would have used a larger charge. This was a warning.”

He flipped the drawing over.

Written in black marker on the back were three words.

Check the basement.

Adrian’s eyes widened.

“My house. My father is at the house.”

We jumped into the SUV.

Adrian drove like a madman, running red lights, the engine roaring as we tore through the city back to the Caruso mansion.

When we arrived, the front gates were wide open.

Adrian’s security guards were unconscious on the lawn.

“Dad!” Adrian roared, bursting through the front doors.

The mansion was eerily silent.

The engagement dinner decorations were still on the tables, but the guests had all been evacuated long ago.

We ran up the stairs to Joseph’s bedroom.

The door was locked, just as Adrian had left it.

“Dad! Open up!”

The lock clicked.

Joseph opened the door, his face pale but unharmed. Leo was asleep on the bed.

“We’re fine, son,” Joseph said, his voice trembling. “What happened outside? We heard sirens.”

“The New York syndicate is in Chicago,” Adrian said quickly. “They left a message. They said to check the basement.”

Joseph frowned.

“The basement? The wine cellar?”

Adrian didn’t wait.

He ran down the grand staircase, through the kitchen, and threw open the heavy oak door leading to the cellar.

I followed close behind him.

The cellar was dark, smelling of damp earth and old oak barrels.

Adrian flipped the light switch.

The lights flickered on.

And we both stopped dead in our tracks.

Sitting in the center of the room, tied to a wooden chair, was a man.

He was bruised and bloody.

But I recognized him immediately.

It was Marcus Whitmore. Celeste’s billionaire father.

And resting on his lap was a bright red, ticking time bomb.

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