Chapter 2 - THE MAID'S WARNING
The heavy oak door of the service entrance yielded without a sound. Adrian Vale had designed it that way. In his line of work, the difference between life and death was often measured in decibels.
He stepped into the dim warmth of the kitchen, the scent of rain and wet asphalt clinging to his cashmere overcoat. The house was too quiet. Usually, at this hour, there would be the low hum of security personnel in the adjacent monitoring room, the clinking of glasses from the parlor, or the soft footsteps of staff preparing the evening down. Tonight, the air was stagnant, heavy with an unspoken tension that made the hairs on the back of Adrian’s neck stand up.
He reached into his coat, his hand instinctively wrapping around the cold, familiar grip of his suppressed Heckler & Koch USP Compact.
A shadow moved by the pantry.
Adrian’s weapon was drawn and leveled in a fraction of a second, his eyes adjusting to the darkness. Pinned against the marble counter, trembling so violently she looked as though she might collapse, was Maria, the head maid who had served the Vale family for nearly a decade.
Her eyes were wide, white, and completely terrified. Seeing Adrian, she gasped, a strangled sound of sheer disbelief, as if she were looking at a ghost.
Adrian lowered the barrel of the gun slightly, narrowing his eyes. He took a step forward to ask her what was wrong, but before he could speak, Maria lunged forward. She didn't speak. She grabbed his lapels with surprisingly strong, desperate hands.
"Stay silent," she mouthed, producing no sound. Her lips trembled. She pointed a shaking finger toward the grand hallway that led to his private study.
Adrian frowned, leaning in closer. “What is it, Maria?” he breathed, his voice barely a vibration in the air.
Tears spilled over her weathered cheeks. She pulled him closer, her breath warm against his ear, and whispered the words that would freeze the blood in his veins.
"Mr. DeLuca is in the study," Maria wept soundlessly. "With Madam Celeste. They… they are toasting to your death, sir. Mr. DeLuca ordered the hit in Zurich. He just told her the plane went down. He told her you are dead."
Adrian stood perfectly still. The world seemed to stop spinning. Marcus DeLuca. His consigliere. The man he had pulled from the gutters of South Boston, educated, elevated, and trusted with his life.
And Celeste.
May you like
The ice in his chest expanded. Was his wife part of this? Had the distance between them been a calculated preamble to murder? The sapphire bracelet in his pocket suddenly felt as heavy as a tombstone.
"Stay here," Adrian commanded in a ghostly whisper. He slipped past her, melting into the shadows of his own home. He was no longer Adrian Vale, the businessman. He was the phantom king of Boston, and a ghost had returned to haunt them all.
