Chapter 4 - Cold Welcome
Chapter 4 - Cold Welcome
The grand foyer of Blackwell House was cold, the draft from the storm leaking through the heavy oak doors. Arthur Vance stood near the fireplace, an elderly man of elegance, wearing a tailored cashmere overcoat and holding a silver-topped cane. His silver hair was perfectly coiffed, and his expression was one of grandfatherly concern.
“Holden, my boy,” Vance said as Holden descended the grand staircase. “I came as soon as I heard. My men picked up chatter about unusual movement around your perimeter. Is everything alright? Has there been a threat against little Wren?”
Holden forced his muscles to relax, adjusting his jacket to hide his weapon. He offered a polite, practiced smile that didn't reach his eyes. “Arthur. Always looking out for us. No, no threat. Just a false alarm with a new staff member. You know how paranoid I’ve been since… since Eleanor.”
Vance sighed heavily, stepping forward to pat Holden’s shoulder. His hand felt like a snake to Holden now. “Of course, of course. Two years, and the wound is still fresh. You must let the past sleep, Holden. For your sake, and for the syndicates. The Morettis are pushing boundaries on the south side. They smell hesitation.”
“Is that what they smell?” Holden asked, walking over to a crystal decanter and pouring two glasses of scotch. He handed one to Vance. “Or do they smell an opportunity created by someone closer to home?”
Vance’s hand remained steady as he took the glass, but a subtle shift occurred in his eyes. The warmth vanished, replaced by the calculating gaze of a man who had survived forty years in the criminal underworld. “What are you implying, Holden?”
“I’m implying that the lower bridge has a lot of blind spots, Arthur,” Holden said softly, taking a sip of his drink. “But not enough to hide a kidnapping from someone who helped design the city's surveillance grid. Like you did, when you served on the port authority commission.”
The silence that followed was suffocating. The crackle of the fireplace sounded like gunfire.
Vance slowly set his glass down on a side table. He didn't deny it. He didn't express outrage. He simply smiled, a cold, serpent-like curve of his lips. “You always were too smart for your own good, Holden. Your father had the muscle, but you had the mind. It’s a shame you let a woman soften it.”
Holden’s grip on his hidden pistol tightened. “Where is she, Arthur?”
“She’s exactly where she needs to be to keep you compliant,” Vance replied smoothly, tapping his cane against the marble floor. Suddenly, the front doors burst open. Four of Vance’s heavily armed mercenaries stepped inside, their weapons raised and aimed directly at Holden.
Vance looked at Holden with a mix of pity and disappointment. “Did you really think I would come here alone, boy? I’ve known about the maid since she left the state line. I let her come here to see if you’d take the bait. And you did. Splendidly.”
Vance turned toward the door. “Kill him. Clean up the house. Find the girl and the maid. They couldn't have gone far.”
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As the mercenaries raised their weapons, Holden didn't flinch. Instead, he smiled. “You taught me everything I know, Arthur,” Holden said. “But you forgot one thing. I don't play by the old rules anymore.”
Holden dove behind a massive marble pillar just as gunfire erupted, shattering the pristine foyer into a warzone.
