Chapter 4 - The Midnight Warning
The wedding dinner was held in the estate’s grand dining hall, but the festive atmosphere was weighed down by an unspoken tension. Guards stood near every exit. Marco hovered near the kitchen doors, his hand never far from his holster.
Clara sat beside Adrian at the head of a massive mahogany table.
She poked at a piece of roasted chicken, her mind racing. "Has there been any word on Thomas Grayson?"
Adrian, who had been cutting his steak with quiet precision, stopped. "No. The state police found his car, but he’s vanished."
"And the polaroid?"
"Analyzed," Adrian said, his voice cold. "The fingerprint dust yielded nothing. Printer paper was standard commercial stock bought at a local store in town. Whoever is doing this knows how to cover their tracks."
"Or they're someone inside the estate," Clara pointed out.
"Elena is checking the staff logs. Anyone who was unaccounted for yesterday afternoon is being questioned."
Clara looked down at her plate. The surreal nature of her new life was sinking in. Twenty-four hours ago, she had been stressing over a foreclosure notice in a cramped apartment above a laundromat. Now she was the legally wedded wife of a mountain-dwelling crime boss, eating expensive chicken while a manhunt took place outside.
"Penny for your thoughts," Adrian said softly, his deep voice cutting through her daze.
"I was just thinking that my life has become exceptionally weird," she confessed.
Adrian poured more red wine into her glass. "Do you regret signing the contract?"
Clara looked at him. Really looked at him. The broad shoulders, the sharp jaw, the quiet, heavy burden he carried. She thought about the way he'd looked at her when she tripped, the warmth of his hand during the ceremony, and the absolute lack of pretense in his answers.
"No," she said honestly. "I don't regret it."
Before Adrian could reply, the dining hall doors slammed open.
Marco sprinted into the room, his face pale, breathing heavily.
"Boss," Marco gasped, stopping at the edge of the table. "You need to see this. Now."
Adrian stood instantly, knocking his chair backward. Clara scrambled up beside him.
"What is it?" Adrian demanded.
"We checked the security cameras near the eastern gate," Marco said, holding out a rugged tablet. "Someone tripped the motion sensors ten minutes ago. They didn't breach the gate. They left a package hanging from the iron bars."
Adrian snatched the tablet.
On the screen was a still image from a night-vision camera. A hooded figure stood outside the heavy iron gates, tying a small box to the bars.
Then the camera zoomed in on the box.
It was wrapped in silver paper and tied with a black ribbon.
And resting on top of the ribbon was a single, bloody playing card—the Queen of Spades.
Clara felt the air leave her lungs. "Is that...?"
"Go," Adrian ordered Marco, his voice pitching into absolute, lethal authority. "Lock down the estate. Nobody leaves the grounds. I want every inch of that perimeter swept in sixty seconds."
"Already on it, Boss," Marco said, turning and sprinting back toward the doors.
Adrian looked down at Clara. His fingers gripped the edge of the mahogany table so tightly the wood splintered beneath his palms.
"Stay here," he ordered.
May you like
"Like hell," Clara said, stepping past him. "That package is addressed to me just as much as it's addressed to you. I'm coming."
Adrian didn't argue. He grabbed her hand, his fingers locking tightly around hers, and pulled her along behind him as he charged out of the dining hall into the freezing mountain night
