Chapter 138 The Shadow of the Matriarch
Nate’s POV
The sounds of the "invisible garden" faded into a dull hum as I stepped onto the Joneses' front porch, the heavy oak door clicking shut behind me. Through the glass, I could still see the flickering glow of the television—a kaleidoscope of bright, innocent colors dancing across the faces of Mila and her sisters. Zoe was a dead weight against Mila’s side now, her small world safely contained within these four walls, protected by nothing more than a frayed rug and the presence of people who loved her.
The air out here was biting, a sharp, cleansing frost that felt more honest than the humid, popcorn-scented warmth of the living room. I pulled my phone from my pocket, the screen glowing like a cold star in the darkness of the suburban night. The vibrations had been relentless against my thigh, a digital heartbeat warning me that the peace I’d just felt was an anomaly—a borrowed moment I had no right to keep.
"Report," I said, my voice dropping back into the clipped, executive tone that felt like a well-worn suit of armor. The transition was instantaneous. The "Uncle Nate" who had been worried about invisible puppies was dead, replaced by the heir to Salvatore Enterprises.
"We have a complication, Nate," Theodore’s voice crackled through the encrypted line. He didn't sound stressed—Theodore didn't do stress—but there was a calculated cadence to his words that put me on high alert. "It’s not Vane. Not yet. We’re still tracking him through the Jersey marshlands, but a new player just stepped onto the board."
I paced the length of the porch, the floorboards creaking under my weight. "If it’s not Vane, who is it? I don't have patience for distractions tonight, Theodore."
"It’s your mother," Theodore replied, and the silence that followed was heavier than the winter air.
A different kind of cold settled in my chest—not the bite of the wind, but the familiar, icy irritation that always accompanied thoughts of Alexandra Salvatore. My mother didn't do anything without a motive, and she certainly didn't engage in anything that didn't involve the consolidation of her own influence. She viewed the world as a series of assets to be managed and liabilities to be liquidated.
"What has Alexandra done now?" I asked, my grip tightening on the wooden railing until I felt the grain bite into my palm.
"She was flagged forty minutes ago at a private terminal in Teterboro," Theodore explained. "She wasn't alone. She had a meeting scheduled with the principals of Blackwood Security. It’s a boutique firm, high-end, and notoriously discreet."
The name hit me like a physical blow. Blackwood. "That’s the same outfit Duane Feeks was contracted with before he started shadowing Mila at the university."
"Precisely," Theodore said. "The connection is no longer speculative. Alexandra didn't just stumble upon Feeks. She’s been utilizing Blackwood to keep tabs on your 'interests' for weeks. But the meeting tonight wasn't a status update. Our source inside the terminal says she was authorizing an extraction protocol."
I looked through the glass again. Mila was laughing at something Eliza had said, her head tilted back, her neck exposed—the neck I had spent the previous night marking as mine. The thought of my mother’s cold, manicured hands reaching into this room made my blood boil. Alexandra didn't see Mila as a person; she saw her as a variable that was making the Salvatore heir unpredictable.
"She wants Mila out of the picture," I muttered, more to myself than to Theodore. "She thinks if she can 'extract' her, I’ll return to the board meetings and the pre-approved social circles."
"She’s playing a dangerous game, Nate," Theodore warned. "If Blackwood moves while Vane is still in the wind, the crossfire will be catastrophic. We have two separate entities hunting the same target for two very different reasons."
"My mother isn't hunting," I corrected, my voice turning into a low, lethal growl. "She’s pruning. She thinks she’s doing me a favor by removing a distraction."
The irony was sickening. I had spent the last hour learning about "magic" and "invisible gardens" from a six-year-old, trying to believe that a life of peace was possible. And all the while, the woman who gave me my name was hiring mercenaries to dismantle that peace. Alexandra knew the power of the Salvatore legacy better than anyone, and she was prepared to use it to crush anything that threatened her vision of it.
"Tell the security team at the motel to stay invisible," I ordered, my eyes fixed on the shadows at the edge of the Joneses' property. "But I want a second team diverted here. Now. They are to remain off-site but within a two-minute response radius. If so much as a Blackwood scout breathes near this house, I want them neutralized."
"And your mother?" Theodore asked.
"Leave her to me," I said, a dark, predatory smile tugging at the corner of my mouth. It was a smile that would have terrified Mila, but it was the only one I had left for Alexandra. "She wants to play with private security and extractions? I’ll show her what a real Salvatore takeover looks like. If she wants to treat my life like a balance sheet, she’s about to find out just how much debt she’s actually carrying."
I ended the call and stood there for a moment, letting the rage settle into a cold, usable energy. My heart rate slowed, my focus sharpening until the world felt like it was made of glass. I had spent my life trying to prove I wasn't just my father’s son, but tonight, I realized I might have to be my mother’s worst nightmare. I was the heir to everything she valued, and I would use every cent of it to destroy her plans.
I took a deep breath, smoothing the front of my cashmere sweater and schooling my features back into the mask of the man who had been sitting on the rug. I couldn't let the darkness out here touch the light inside that house. Not yet. I would be the wall. I would be the shield.
As I opened the door, the warmth hit me again—the scent of butter, the sound of cartoon music, and the unmistakable feeling of home. Mila looked up, her eyes searching mine for a split second. She was intuitive, far too smart for her own good, and she sensed the subtle shift in the air that always followed my phone calls. The peace in her expression flickered, a question forming on her lips.
I gave her a small, reassuring nod—the most honest lie I’d ever told—and sat back down on the floor, pulling her back into the space between my legs. I held her a little tighter than before, my arms a barricade. My mother thought she could prune my life to her liking, but she had forgotten one thing: I didn't just inherit the Salvatore empire. I inherited the Salvatore ruthlessness. And if she tried to touch the garden I was building, I would burn her world to the ground to keep this one safe.