Chapter 3 - DRESSED FOR WAR
The following morning, the entire estate was shrouded in an uneasy, tense quiet as the staff prepared for Declan’s high-stakes meeting with the Rossy family leaders.
At eight o'clock sharp, Mrs. Gibson met Narin in the upper hallway, holding a garment bag containing a bespoke three-piece suit made of heavy charcoal wool.
“Take this to him,” Mrs. Gibson whispered nervously. “He refused to let his valet enter the room. He’s going to try to dress himself, and he’ll end up hurting himself.”
Narin took the heavy garment bag and knocked once on the master bedroom door before stepping inside.
Declan was sitting on the edge of the massive king-sized bed, wearing his shirt and tie, but he was visibly struggling with his tailored trousers. His breathing was labored, his forehead glistening with perspiration as he fought against his own useless lower body.
Just as Narin crossed the threshold, his center of gravity failed. His upper body listed sharply to the right, and he fell sideways across the mattress, his legs twisted awkwardly beneath him.
Narin neither gasped nor averted her eyes. She didn't offer a pitying sigh or a delicate exclamation of shock.
She simply stepped forward, grabbed the cuff of his trouser leg, and braced her feet against the floor.
“Lift your hips,” she commanded neutrally.
Declan’s face flushed a deep, furious crimson. “I can dress myself!” he snarled, trying to push himself up with his elbows.
“Wonderful,” Narin said, maintaining her firm grip on the wool fabric. “Do it after payday.”
His glare could have emptied an entire room of seasoned mercenaries.
Narin didn't budge an inch. She held the trousers aligned with his feet.
“Lift.”
He glared at her for three agonizing seconds, his chest rising and falling heavily. Then, grinding his teeth together, he used his powerful arms to lift his torso, allowing her to slide the trousers up his legs with swift, efficient movements.
Once the trousers were secured, she helped him adjust his balance until he was sitting upright once more.
Fifteen minutes later, dressed in his tailored charcoal wool suit, his dark hair combed back neatly, and his silver cuff links gleaming in the soft light, Declan Graham no longer looked like a bitter, broken invalid trapped in a bedroom.
He looked once again like the terrifying crime boss who ruled the city's dark underbelly.
He wheeled himself toward the door, stopping just beside where Narin stood holding his heavy winter overcoat.
As she stepped forward to hand him the coat, his low voice cut through the quiet room.
“Narin.”
She paused, looking down at him. “Yes, Mr. Graham?”
He reached up, taking the coat from her hands. His dark eyes held hers with an unusual, uncharacteristic intensity.
“Stay in the staff kitchen today,” he ordered softly. “Keep away from the main windows in the front foyer.”
It was protection, wrapped tightly inside the rigid framing of a command.
Narin offered a brief, respectful nod. “Yes, sir.”
She had every intention of obeying his instruction. She wanted her check, her four thousand dollars, and her safety.
Twenty minutes later, while Narin was washing dishes near the kitchen sink, a deafening explosion shattered the peace of the morning.
The shockwave rattled the dishes in the cupboards, sending dust pouring down from the ceiling.
Before Narin could even register the sound, a heavy black SUV smashed straight through the estate's reinforced front glass entry doors with a horrifying crunch of metal and stone.
Automatic gunfire instantly ripped through the main foyer, the deafening blasts echoing relentlessly down the long hallways.
Screams erupted from the staff. Mrs. Gibson and two kitchen workers instantly bolted through the rear emergency exit, fleeing out into the surrounding woods without looking back.
Narin ran toward the main hallway, throwing herself behind a thick marble pillar as armed men in black tactical gear poured out of the shattered SUV and into the house.
Then, through the ringing in her ears, she heard one of the masked gunmen shout above the chaotic gunfire:
“Find the office! Rossy said kill the cripple first!”
Declan was still inside the east wing office.
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Narin dropped her dish towel. She didn't turn toward the open rear exit where the other servants had vanished.
She turned around and sprinted directly toward the east wing.
