Chapter 5 - THE SHADOW OF VALENTI
By dawn, the rain had stopped, leaving Blackwood Manor wrapped in a cold, grey mist.
Adrian sat in his study with Vance. The heavy mahogany doors were locked, and the room had been swept twice for electronic listening devices.
"Are you absolute certain about this, boss?" Vance asked, his face pale as he read the fresh intelligence file on his tablet. "If the Valenti family finds out Genevieve Saint-Claire is alive and sleeping on the third floor of this house, it won't be a business dispute. It will be an all-out war."
"The Valentis have been encroaching on our northern shipping lines for two years, Vance," Adrian said, turning his leather chair toward the window. "They think they own the Eastern seaboard. They think they can buy off our senators and bribe our dock captains."
"Holding the Saint-Claire heir gives us leverage," Vance pointed out. "We could trade her to the Swiss banking commission for full immunity and asset recovery."
Adrian turned his head sharply, his eyes locking onto Vance with an expression so lethal the security chief instinctively stepped back.
"She is not a bargaining chip," Adrian said, every word wrapped in cold steel. "She is a guest under the protection of this house. If anyone—including my brother or my underbosses—discovers who she really is, I will personally put a bullet through their spine."
"Understood, boss," Vance said quickly, swallowing hard. "What about her duties? If she stays in the kitchen, people will notice you treating her differently."
"She remains Clara Hart," Adrian instructed. "She continues to cook. She continues her routine. But as of today, her room is moved to the second-floor guest suite next to my quarters. We'll tell the staff it's for efficiency during formal hosting."
Vance nodded. "And the dog?"
"Bruno stays with her," Adrian said. "He’s been guarding her for eight years. I'm not going to stop him now."
That afternoon, the shift in dynamics became glaringly obvious to anyone paying attention.
Julian Blackwood stormed into the dining hall during lunch, finding Clara setting the table for eight. Bruno was lying comfortably near the fireplace, watching her every move.
"What is this?!" Julian yelled, pointing at Clara. "Why are her belongings being moved into the suite next to Adrian’s rooms?! Since when do domestic cooks get second-floor guest suites?!"
Clara didn't stop placing the silver forks. "Mr. Blackwood requested that I be available for late-night corporate catering prep, sir."
"Don't lie to me, you little leech!" Julian took two aggressive strides toward her, reaching out to grab her arm. "You've worked your way into my brother’s head, haven't you? What are you selling him?!"
Before Julian’s fingers could touch Clara’s sleeve, a dark shadow erupted from the side of the fireplace.
GRRRRRRRRRR.
Bruno was on his feet in half a second, his body low to the ground, his teeth bared, his lips pulled back in a terrifying display of raw violence. He placed himself directly in front of Clara, his yellow eyes locked onto Julian’s throat.
Julian froze mid-step, his face draining of color. "Adrian! Get your damn dog!"
Adrian stepped out of the adjacent library, holding a folded newspaper. He didn't rush. He walked slowly across the Persian rug, stopping beside Clara.
"He doesn't like people touching her, Julian," Adrian said calmly.
"She's a servant!" Julian hissed, pulling his hand back slowly. "The dog is acting like she’s royalty!"
"Maybe she is," Adrian said smoothly, giving Clara a subtle, dark look that only she understood. "Step back, Julian. And don't raise your hands in this room again."
Julian stared at his brother in utter disbelief. He looked at Clara, then at the snarling dog, and finally at Adrian’s cold, unreadable face.
"You've lost your mind," Julian whispered, turning around and pacing out of the hall. "The whole house has lost its damn mind."
When the heavy double doors clicked shut behind Julian, Clara let out a long, quiet breath. She leaned down and stroked Bruno’s neck, calming the trembling beast with two soft whispers in French.
"You don't have to keep pretending to be a servant when we're alone," Adrian said quietly.
Genevieve looked up at him, her gray eyes sharp and clear. "I've been playing a character for eight years, Adrian. It’s the only reason I'm still breathing. If I stop playing her now, I forget how to survive."
"You don't have to survive alone anymore," Adrian said.
She looked at him for a long moment, searching his face for any sign of deceit, any sign of the predatory greed she had seen in every powerful man since her father died.
She found none. Only a dark, fierce protection that made her cold heart beat a little faster.
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"The Valentis aren't just coming for me, Adrian," she warned softly. "They have scouts in New York. If they trace my paper trail to Boston..."
"Let them come," Adrian interrupted, stepping closer to her, his hand briefly brushing against hers on the wooden table. "I've been waiting for an excuse to burn their empire to the ground."
