Chapter 2 - THE GUN THAT SHOULD NOT EXIST
Marcus stared at Adrian.
“No?”
Adrian did not answer immediately.
He remained crouched beside Vivian’s ruined gown, studying the weapon on the marble floor.
The handgun was compact.
Black.
Old.
Not the sort of polished ceremonial weapon a DeLuca soldier would carry into an estate filled with Cross security.
There was a shallow scratch along the slide.
Three parallel lines.
Adrian’s expression changed.
Marcus noticed.
“What?”
Adrian reached for a handkerchief from the dressing table and carefully lifted the pistol without touching it directly.
He turned it sideways.
Then stopped breathing.
Vivian watched him.
“What is it?”
Adrian ignored her.
“Marcus.”
“Yes?”
“Look at the grip.”
Marcus stepped closer.
His face remained neutral for half a second too long.
Adrian saw it.
A tiny silver cross had been engraved near the bottom.
Not religious.
A family mark.
Cross weapons manufactured for Adrian’s father had carried that symbol years earlier.
Vivian stared.
“That’s yours.”
“No.”
Adrian’s voice had become colder.
“It was.”
Marcus frowned.
“What do you mean?”
Adrian looked at him.
“This weapon disappeared twelve years ago.”
Silence.
Vivian lowered herself slowly into a chair.
Adrian continued.
“It belonged to my father.”
Marcus recovered quickly.
“Your father owned dozens of guns.”
“Not this model.”
Adrian turned it again.
“This one was registered internally as C-17.”
Something almost invisible moved behind Marcus’s eyes.
Vivian noticed nothing.
Adrian did.
Twelve years earlier, Sebastian Cross had been shot to death inside an unfinished warehouse near the Chicago River.
The official story inside the family had been simple.
The DeLucas arranged an ambush.
Sebastian arrived with three men.
Two died.
Marcus survived.
He had been twenty-nine then.
Adrian twenty-seven.
Marcus had crawled from the warehouse with blood soaking his shirt and told Adrian the same story repeatedly.
DeLuca men had attacked from the west entrance.
Sebastian had returned fire.
The Cross men were overwhelmed.
Before dying, Sebastian ordered Marcus to escape.
One weapon had disappeared from the scene.
C-17.
Marcus claimed a DeLuca gunman had taken it.
That missing gun became one of the private pieces of evidence Adrian used to justify six years of retaliation.
Now C-17 was lying beneath Vivian DeLuca’s wedding dress.
Vivian’s voice became quiet.
“You think my family had it all this time?”
Marcus answered before Adrian could.
“Obviously.”
Adrian looked at him.
“Nothing is obvious.”
Marcus spread his hands.
“It disappeared during a DeLuca ambush. Twelve years later it appears in a DeLuca bride’s gown. What else do you need?”
“A reason.”
“To kill you.”
“With a gun sewn under ten pounds of silk?”
Marcus’s jaw tightened.
Vivian stood.
“I did not know that weapon was there.”
Marcus gave a humorless laugh.
“Convenient.”
She turned on him.
“You’ve wanted this marriage canceled from the day Adrian announced it.”
“Because I understand your family.”
“No. Because without the feud, men like you become less important.”
The insult landed.
Marcus stepped forward.
Adrian raised one hand.
Both stopped.
His phone vibrated.
Security.
“Cross.”
“Boss,” a guard said. “We reviewed the bridal hallway cameras.”
“And?”
“There’s a problem.”
“What?”
“The camera outside the suite went offline for six minutes.”
Adrian looked at Marcus.
“When?”
“Ten twenty-one to ten twenty-seven.”
Vivian’s face tightened.
“That was when my hairdresser went downstairs.”
Adrian asked, “Who entered during the blackout?”
“We don’t know.”
“Other cameras?”
“East staircase shows one male figure approaching the hallway. Camera angle only catches the back.”
“Send it.”
Adrian’s phone chimed.
He opened the image.
Black suit.
Broad shoulders.
Male.
The face invisible.
But the wrist was visible.
A flash of silver.
A watch.
Vivian leaned closer.
“The shiny watch.”
Adrian said nothing.
Marcus glanced at his own wrist.
He wore an expensive steel watch with a dark face.
Not unusual.
Half the men attending the wedding wore similar ones.
Still, Adrian remembered Lily’s words.
The nice man touched the dress too.
The man with the shiny watch.
Marcus looked toward the photograph.
“That proves nothing.”
“I didn’t say it did.”
Adrian called security again.
“Seal the estate.”
Vivian looked at him.
“You’re detaining my family?”
“I’m detaining everyone.”
“Adrian—”
“Nobody leaves until I know who put that weapon in your dress.”
Her voice lowered.
“My father will interpret that as an insult.”
“Your father can survive being insulted.”
“And if he refuses?”
Adrian finally looked at her.
“Then today becomes the war we were trying to prevent.”
Marcus smiled faintly.
Too faintly.
But Grace Carter would later remember one thing about Marcus Hale.
Whenever Adrian looked away, Marcus stopped looking worried.
He looked almost relieved.
Downstairs, Grace sat in the kitchen with Lily on her lap.
Her daughter had stopped crying.
Mostly.
Grace smoothed Lily’s hair.
“You cannot wander upstairs.”
“I wanted flowers.”
“I know.”
“The lady yelled.”
“I know.”
Lily lowered her voice.
Even though nobody else heard.
“The nice man was there before.”
Grace looked at her.
“What nice man?”
“The shiny watch.”
“When?”
Lily pointed toward the ceiling.
“Dress room.”
“Before you went inside?”
Lily nodded.
“What was he doing?”
Lily scrunched her face in concentration.
“He put his hand under.”
Grace stopped.
“Under what?”
“The pretty dress.”
A chill moved through her.
Grace had worked at Hawthorne Estate for six years.
She knew Marcus Hale.
Everyone did.
He smiled at staff.
Remembered birthdays.
Tipped well at Christmas.
And wore the same distinctive silver watch nearly every day.
A vintage Audemars Piguet with a damaged clasp that caught the light whenever he moved his left hand.
Grace looked toward the kitchen doors.
Then back at Lily.
“Did the man see you?”
Lily nodded.
“What did he say?”
“He said I was a good girl.”
Grace’s pulse quickened.
“And?”
“He gave me candy.”
Grace went cold.
Lily reached into the pocket of her little dress.
She pulled out a wrapped caramel.
Grace recognized the gold paper immediately.
Marcus kept a bowl of them in his office.
Everyone in the house knew.
For several seconds, Grace did nothing.
Then she stood.
A young kitchen assistant looked over.
“Grace?”
“Watch Lily.”
“What?”
Grace pressed her daughter into the woman’s arms.
“Do not let anyone take her.”
Lily reached for her.
“Mommy?”
Grace kissed her forehead.
“I’ll be right back.”
Then she walked out.
She knew better than to accuse Marcus Hale.
She knew what happened to people who made accusations without proof.
So she did not go upstairs.
She went to the staff laundry room.
Because six weeks earlier, while removing a wine stain from Marcus’s dinner jacket, Grace had found something strange inside the inner pocket.
A brass key.
Stamped with one number.
17.
She had returned it.
At the time, it meant nothing.
Now she was no longer sure.
Grace reached the laundry room.
Opened the records cabinet.
Pulled out the cleaning ledger.
Every expensive garment handled by staff was logged.
Marcus Hale.
Black tuxedo jacket.
September 3.
Inner pocket contents removed for cleaning.
Wallet.
Caramel wrapper.
Brass key.
Tag number C-17.
Grace stared.
Not 17.
C-17.
Her hands began to shake.
Upstairs, Adrian received another security report.
“Boss, we found something in the gown lining.”
“What?”
“A thread caught around the weapon.”
“And?”
“It isn’t ivory.”
Adrian frowned.
“What color?”
“Gray.”
Vivian stared.
“That gown has never been near gray fabric.”
The bridal suite door opened.
Grace stood there, breathless.
Marcus turned toward her.
And for the first time since she had known him, Grace Carter saw fear in his eyes.
She held up the ledger.
May you like
“I think I know who touched the dress.”
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