Chapter 14 Fourteen
AUTHOR'S POV.
The heavy front door clicked shut before the brass latch slid into its housing with a sharp snap. The sound rang through the Vance estate, echoing off the minimalist setting, giving the grand hallway a feeling of being too big.
It felt exactly like a cage. No one moved. No one wanted to be the first person to speak.
Shed walked away at this point, but her presence could still be felt. Especially by the mother and daughter who were shit-scared now, having discovered what kind of persons he was now.
Mr. Vance stood perfectly still in the center of the foyer. He looked exactly like a statue carved from rough, grey stone. His eyes, bloodshot and grieving, stayed locked on the empty spot on the marble floor where his daughter and gus grandchildren had just stood.
He remembered the weak, quiet girl he had spent five years mourning. He mentally compared that memory to the woman who had just commanded his home. She wore a tailored white suit.
She possessed hard, storm-grey eyes that did not flinch. She radiated absolute, untouchable power. The ghost they thought was buried at the bottom of a river was not a victim. The ghost was a boss.
The heavy silence finally broke. Camilla dragged a harsh, ragged breath into her lungs. The sound was shallow and incredibly fast. She looked at her mother. Her dark eyes were wide and frantic. She searched Elena’s rigid face, desperately looking for a lie that could save them from the truth standing right in front of them.
But there was none.
Mr. Vance slowly turned around. He did not look sad anymore. He looked violent. The heavy grief on his face hardened instantly into pure, volcanic fury.
"Five years," Mr. Vance said. He pointed a shaking, thick finger directly at his wife’s face. "You looked me in the eye for five years."
Elena immediately shifted into her best role. She let out a loud, theatrical sob. She brought her manicured hands up to cover her mouth. She shook her shoulders rapidly to fake a deep, uncontrollable crying fit.
"Richard, please," Elena wept. She took a quick step forward and reached out to touch his suit jacket. "I am in shock. I am entirely confused. We thought the poor girl was dead."
Mr. Vance violently jerked his arm back. He flinched away from her touch like she was a venomous snake. His large hands curled into tight, heavily shaking fists at his sides.
"Do not touch me," Mr. Vance growled. He stepped closer, towering aggressively over the two women. "You hated her. You both treated her like dirt in this house. And now she is alive. She came back with the face of a killer like we were responsible for whatever happened to her. You should have investigated more."
"Daddy, we did not know, and you absolutely cant blame us. Don't even think about it." Camilla whispered. She began to chew intensely on her thumbnail, a nervous habit she had not displayed since she was a young child. Her wide eyes darted frantically around the room, looking for a physical exit.
He did not wait for an answer or a defense. He turned his broad back on them. He walked out of the foyer and toward his private study. He grabbed the heavy wooden door and slammed it shut behind him.
The massive impact shook the walls and the fine bone china rattled loudly inside the glass display cabinets down the hall.
The loud echo of the slamming door faded into nothing. The women were alone. The mother and daughter act stopped immediately. The fake, wet tears vanished from Elena’s eyes in a split second. Her face hardened into a mask of pure ice.
Camilla’s knees gave out completely. She collapsed heavily into a dark mahogany chair by the wall and curled her thin arms tightly around her stomach. She looked incredibly small and pathetic inside her expensive pink silk dress.
They did not wonder where Idalia had been living. They did not care if she was healthy or okay. They were only wondering how she survived. They remembered the dark, deep water. They remembered the burning fire of the car crash. They remembered the hitman’s final, confident report.
He said she took a bullet to the chest and fell into the rushing river. Dead women did not wear designer suits. Dead women did not return with a bank account and children.
"The boy," Camilla gasped. She pulled her knees up to her chest, rocking slightly back and forth in the expensive chair. "Did you see the boy, Mother? Did you see his face?"
Elena did not answer. She stood perfectly straight, staring blankly at the marble floor tiles.
"His eyes were blue," Camilla cried. She pressed her sweaty palms flat against her temples. "They were Thane’s exact eyes. It is a ticking time bomb. If Thane sees that boy, he will know. He will kill us. He will literally kill us."
Elena slowly looked at her daughter. She realized Idalia was not just back in the city.
Idalia was back with a heavy, lethal energy that could easily destroy their entire world. She could ruin Camilla’s impending marriage to the billionaire before the week ended. Elena’s hands stopped shaking entirely. She shifted smoothly from sheer panic into pure survival mode.
Elena reached deep into her emerald dress pocket. She took out her slim smartphone. Her fingers were perfectly steady as they tapped the glass screen. She scrolled quickly through her encrypted contacts and made a call immediately, pressing the cold phone tight against her ear.
The morning sun blazed brightly through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the high-end New York City restaurant. The bright, modern room was filled with the low, wealthy hum of patrons eating breakfast. The smell of expensive roasted coffee and fresh pastries hung in the air. The sunny atmosphere was a sharp, brutal contrast to the dark, lethal conversation happening in the secluded corner booth.
Eric Cornell sat directly across from Elena. He wore a sharp, custom-tailored navy suit. He looked exactly like a successful Wall Street executive discussing a merger. But his physical body told a completely different story.
His shoulders were too thick for the suit. His hands were heavily calloused, scarred, and built strictly for his line of work. He looked up from his black coffee. His eyes were flat and cold. They were the dead eyes of a shark.
Elena placed her expensive leather purse on the empty seat beside her and then she leaned forward over the pristine white tablecloth.
"She is alive," Elena said. She kept her voice flat and completely direct. "She is here in the city. And she has children."
Eric froze.
He slowly lowered his white coffee cup back onto the matching ceramic saucer. He did not blink. The news clearly stunned him. A heavy wave of wounded pride tightened the muscles in his thick jaw.
He was a man who never left a job unfinished.
Until now.
"That is impossible," Eric stated. He crossed his thick arms over his broad chest. "I pushed her car off the cliff. I watched the metal crush. I pulled the trigger myself. I watched her body go deep into the water."
"Your eyes lied to you," Elena fired back. She picked up a heavy silver spoon and pointed it aggressively at his chest. "She walked right into my house yesterday. She wore diamonds. She looked me dead in the eye. You missed."
A subtle, twisted tension was simmering heavily in the small space between them. It was the dark, undeniable connection of two people who shared a brutal, bloody secret that not even their daughter knew about.
Eric uncrossed his arms. He leaned his heavy frame across the small table, deliberately invading her personal space.
"I do not miss," Eric growled. His voice dropped to a low, rough whisper that barely carried over the restaurant noise. He placed his large, veiny hand flat on the table, stopping just inches from hers. "If she crawled out of that river, then she is living on borrowed time."
"Her son has Devereux’s eyes," Elena whispered. She traced the smooth rim of her water glass with a perfectly manicured finger. "If the billionaire sees that boy, we are all dead. You need to fix that mistake too."
"I will tie up the loose ends," Eric promised. He stared deep into her eyes, his flat, cold gaze promising absolute violence. "I will do it properly this time. No water. No cliffs. Just a quiet end."
Elena nodded slowly. She leaned back against the plush leather material of the booth then she turned her head and looked out the massive glass window. She watched the busy New York skyline stretching out under the bright morning sun. The suffocating panic from the night before was completely gone. She felt the cold blood rushing smoothly through her veins again. She felt exactly like a hunter.
And this time, she had a strong feeling the prey'd be at her mercy.