Chapter 5 - The Price of Loyalty
"Why?" Mason asked.
He didn't scream. He didn't raise his voice. But the pain behind his eyes was real. Marcus had been at his father's side when Mason was a child. He had taught Mason how to shoot, how to drive, how to survive in a city where every ally had a price tag.
"Thirty years, Mason," Marcus said quietly, leaning his head back against the concrete wall. "Thirty years I gave to your family. I took three bullets for your father. I lost my wife because I was never home. And when your father died, what did I get? A pension and a house on your perimeter fence."
"You were paid better than any security chief in Chicago," Mason said cold.
"It wasn't about the money!" Marcus spat, a flash of genuine anger breaking through his calm facade. "The Morettis offered me a seat at the table. Real partnership. Shares in the new eastern distribution routes. All they wanted in exchange was clean intelligence on your estate."
"So you gave them Claire," Mason said, his voice dropping into a deadly whisper.
"She was the easiest target," Marcus admitted smoothly. "She’s an outsider, Mason. She doesn't belong in this world. She’s soft. She spends her time worrying about wine orders and garden arrangements. I knew if I put a tracker on her, she wouldn't notice. The plan was simple: the Morettis snatch her off the street, hold her for twelve hours, and force you to sign over the northern shipping docks to get her back unharmed."
"And if I refused?"
"You wouldn't have refused," Marcus said, looking up at Mason with a cynical smile. "Everyone in this house knows how you look at her. You’ve been in love with that girl since the month she walked into this estate."
Mason’s finger tightened on the trigger.
"She’s innocent, Marcus," Mason whispered.
"In our world, nobody is innocent," Marcus replied. "She took a job working for a mob boss. That makes her collateral."
Before Mason could pull the trigger, the lights in the basement flickered violently and died, plunging the vault into absolute darkness.
BANG!
A shot echoed through the pitch-black room. Mason dove to the right, rolling behind a server rack as concrete chips flew off the wall near his head.
Marcus hadn't been bleeding from a real bullet wound—he had faked the injury to draw Mason in, using fake blood from his tactical kit.
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"You're getting slow, Mason!" Marcus’s voice echoed through the dark vault as footsteps sprinted toward the emergency exit stairs.
Mason scrambled to his feet, kicking open the fire door, chasing the traitor into the dark upper levels of the mansion.
