Chapter 4 - The Puppet Master’s Mask
The study was illuminated only by the dying embers of the stone fireplace and the blue glow of four wall-mounted surveillance monitors. Adrian sat behind his heavy mahogany desk, nursing a glass of neat bourbon, the collar of his shirt soaked in red from the reopened glass cut on his collarbone.
I walked in without knocking, having stripped off the shredded wedding dress in favor of an oversized cashmere sweater and dark leggings borrowed from the guest suite. I set a fresh bowl of antiseptic water and clean bandages on the desk.
He looked up, surprised, his dark eyes softening into something resembling hope before he guarded himself again. “I told you that you didn't have to look after me, Evelyn.”
“I’m doing this so you don't bleed out before you give me the rest of the truth,” I said coolly, pulling up a leather armchair opposite him. “Sit still.”
Adrian didn't argue. He leaned his head back against the leather chair, closing his eyes as I dabbed the soaked cotton against his torn skin. His jaw twitched at the sting of the alcohol, but he didn't make a sound.
“If you knew Lily was involved with the bomb, why didn't you execute her on the spot?” I asked, applying pressure with a clean gauze pad. “You’ve killed men for far less than attempting to assassinate your bride.”
“Because Lily isn't smart enough to wire military-grade plastic explosives,” Adrian murmured, his voice rumbling beneath my hands. “She’s an actress. She’s a parasite who lived off my brother Marco’s trust fund, and when Marco died in that warehouse explosion four years ago, she latched onto me. She’s shallow, greedy, and pathologically jealous of you. But she doesn't have the connections to buy black-market C-4 from Eastern Europe.”
“Someone supplied her,” I deduced, securing the tape over his bandage.
“Victor Marcone,” Adrian confirmed, opening his eyes to look directly into mine. “The Marcone family has been trying to break my stranglehold on the Chicago rail yards for a decade. They realized they couldn't beat me in a street war. So they approached Lily. They promised her everything: Marco’s hidden offshore accounts, protection, and a permanent throne beside Marcone’s son if she helped them take me off the board.”
“How was killing me supposed to take you off the board?”
Adrian’s hand suddenly came up, catching my wrist. His grip wasn't rough, but it was electric, sending a shiver through my veins. He pulled my hand down slowly, pressing my palm against his chest, right over his racing heart.
“Because if you died on our wedding day, Evelyn, I would have burned this entire city to ash,” he said, his voice terrifyingly sincere. “I would have lost my mind. I would have launched a reckless, uncalculated assault on every Marcone stronghold in Illinois. I would have walked straight into an ambush, blind with grief. Victor knew that. He knew the only way to make the ruthless Adrian DeLuca make a fatal mistake was to rip out his only weakness.”
I stared at him, feeling the steady, powerful rhythm beneath my fingers. “I’m your weakness?”
“You’re my only vulnerability,” he whispered, his thumb lightly caressing the inside of my wrist. “When you walked out of that house and got into that Corolla, I wasn't angry because my pride was bruised. I was terrified. For the first time in my life, I felt true, paralyzing panic. Because if Marcone found you before I did, there was nothing on this earth I wouldn't trade to get you back.”
I pulled my hand away, stepping back toward the fireplace. The revelation didn't magically erase the humiliation of the morning. It didn't erase the months of watching him cater to Lily's every whim while I was pushed into the background, told to be patient, told to understand his family obligations.
“You still lied to me, Adrian,” I said, looking into the flames. “You played a spy game on our wedding morning. You made me look like a fool in front of my friends, my family, and the press. You treated me like a pawn in your war instead of a partner.”
“I wanted to keep your hands clean!” he shouted, standing up from the desk, towering over the room. “I didn't want you to carry the weight of this world! I wanted to give you a pristine life, away from the blood and the paranoia!”
“I was marrying a mafia don!” I yelled back, stepping toe-to-toe with him. “You think I didn't know what you were? I didn't need you to protect my innocence, Adrian! I needed you to trust my strength!”
Adrian went dead silent. He stared at me, his chest expanding with a ragged breath, the realization hitting him like a physical blow.
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Before he could speak, the red emergency phone on his desk shrieked with a shrill, piercing alarm. Dante’s voice crackled through the speakerphone without waiting for a pickup:
‘Boss! Victor Marcone just sent a courier to the perimeter gate. He’s not attacking. He wants a parley at midnight at the Old Navy Pier warehouse. And he says if you don't bring Evelyn Hart with you, he’s releasing the federal wiretaps that link your entire legitimate shipping empire to the docks explosion.’
