Chapter 3 – THE RED INK AND THE WINE CELLAR

My lungs forgot how to work.

I stared at my brother’s plastic nametag. Sam was twenty years old. He worked the night shift at the diner to pay for his textbooks. He had nothing to do with the mafia, nothing to do with Roman, and absolutely nothing to do with Victoria Hale.

“They took Sam,” I choked out, tears spilling over my eyelashes. “Why would they take my brother?”

Roman stood up. The grief that had weighed him down a moment ago vanished, instantly replaced by the lethal, calculating aura of a cartel boss.

He took the sweater and the note from my trembling hands. He read Victoria’s elegant red handwriting.

“Because Victoria knows I need you to navigate the estate’s security,” Roman said, his voice terrifyingly calm. “She knows you have the master keys to the service tunnels. She’s using your brother to force you to betray me.”

“I wouldn’t!” I cried.

“I know you wouldn’t,” Roman said, putting a heavy, reassuring hand on my shoulder. “But Victoria doesn’t understand loyalty. She only understands leverage. She thinks if she holds your brother, you’ll lead her right to Rose.”

“But Rose isn’t with us,” I said, wiping my eyes.

“No,” Roman said. He looked toward the diner across the street. “But if Sam left his sweater here, he must have seen Rose. He must have tried to help her.”

We ran across the flooded street to the diner. The bell chimed as we pushed the glass doors open. The place was empty except for a terrified teenage cashier hiding behind the counter.

“Where is Sam?” I demanded, rushing up to the register.

The cashier pointed a shaking finger toward the back alley door. “Two guys in suits came in. They grabbed Sam. A girl was with him. She was crying. They dragged them both out the back.”

Roman’s jaw clenched. Victoria’s men hadn’t just taken my brother to use as leverage. They had captured Rose, too.

“Silas,” Roman barked into his cell phone. “Status.”

“Boss,” Silas’s voice crackled through the speaker. “Victoria is still at the estate. She locked herself in the east wing with her father’s men. We have them surrounded, but they’re heavily armed. We’re waiting on your order to breach.”

“Do not breach,” Roman commanded. “She has hostages. My daughter, and Claire’s brother.”

“Understood. What’s the play?”

“Pull the men back to the perimeter,” Roman said. “I’m coming in through the wine cellar.”

He hung up the phone and looked at me.

“Claire, I need you to go home,” Roman said gently. “This is going to be a warzone. I will get your brother back. You have my word.”

I thought about Sam. I thought about the tuition bills, the late nights, the promise I made to our mother before she died that I would always protect him.

I looked Roman DeLuca dead in the eye.

“You don’t know the wine cellar codes, Mr. DeLuca,” I said firmly. “Victoria changed them yesterday for the caterers. I’m the only one who has the override.”

Roman studied my face. He saw the fierce, unyielding resolve of an older sister. He nodded once.

We drove back to the estate in silence. We parked a mile down the road, hiding the SUV in the trees. We hiked through the rain-soaked gardens, approaching the massive stone mansion from the blind spot behind the greenhouses.

I led Roman to the heavy iron grate hidden beneath the ivy. I pulled my master keycard from my apron, swiped it, and typed in the override code.

The heavy iron door clicked open.

We slipped into the dark, damp catacombs of the wine cellar. The smell of aged oak and dust filled the air.

We moved silently up the stone steps toward the east wing. As we reached the top of the stairs, I peered through the crack of the heavy wooden door.

The grand library had been turned into a holding cell.

Standing by the fireplace was Victoria, sipping a glass of wine, still wearing her red satin gown.

Sitting on the floor, tied back-to-back against a heavy oak chair, were two teenagers.

One was Sam, his lip bleeding from a fresh cut.

The other was a girl with dark, soaking wet hair. She looked exactly like the woman in the silver locket. Rose.

“You’re making a mistake, Victoria,” a deep, gravelly voice echoed in the room.

I shifted my view. Sitting in an armchair opposite Victoria was her father, Vincent Hale. The boss of the rival syndicate.

“Roman is going to kill us for this,” Vincent warned his daughter.

“Roman is weak,” Victoria sneered. “He threw away the alliance for a bastard child. We take the girl, we force Roman to sign over the shipping ports to get her back, and then we get rid of them both.”

The reversal hit hard. Victoria wasn’t acting out of jealousy anymore. This was a hostile corporate takeover. She was using the emotional chaos to steal the DeLuca empire.

Roman pushed the door open an inch, raising the rifle he had taken from the guard.

But before he could aim, Victoria walked over to Rose.

Victoria reached into the bodice of her red dress and pulled out a small, folded piece of heavy parchment.

“You want to know why your father abandoned you, Rose?” Victoria smiled cruelly, waving the paper in the terrified girl’s face. “He didn’t abandon you. He sold you.”

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