Chapter 7 - BLOOD TIES AND BROKEN GLASS
The rain over Chicago had turned into sleet, slashing against the armored glass of our black Cadillac Escalade as we tore through the slick, empty streets of Old Town.
Inside the vehicle, the tension was suffocating.
Stellan sat beside me, checking the drum magazine of an automatic shotgun while Vance drove. In the passenger seat, Kora monitored police dispatch scanners on a ruggedized laptop. Natalia followed three car-lengths behind us in her own Mercedes, her headlights cutting through the freezing mist.
Fern was awake, chewing on the silicone ring of her pacifier. Every time the truck hit a bump, Stellan’s hand instinctively moved toward her carrier, his fingers hovering protectively above her chest before pulling back, as if he still felt unworthy to touch her.
"You don't trust her," I said quietly, watching his reflection in the glass.
"Natalia was raised by men who drowned their own hunting dogs when they failed to retrieve a bird," Stellan replied, his voice a low rumble beneath the hum of the engine. "She doesn't have allies, Selene. She has tools and she has targets. The second Julian is dead, she will try to eliminate you."
"Then why let her lead us in?"
"Because she’s right about the syndicate charter," Stellan said, sliding a fresh shell into the shotgun’s receiver with a sharp, metallic *clack*. "The twelve elders of the council won't accept my word. To them, I'm just an ambitious enforcer who seized the Cross territories by force. But you... you carry Arthur’s blood. If you present yourself before the council ratified Julian’s claim, the bylaws freeze all authority. Julian’s men won't be able to fire a single round without committing treason against the charter."
"And if Julian doesn't care about the charter?"
Stellan looked up from his weapon, his gray eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that made the air in my lungs catch.
"Then I kill him before he finishes his sentence."
"Boss," Vance called from the front seat. "Two blocks out from Saint Jude. Perimeter is heavy. At least six black Suburbans parked along the curb. Spotters on the rectory roof."
"Take the rear alley," Stellan commanded. "Cut the lights."
The Escalade slipped into the narrow, cobblestone alleyway behind the massive Gothic cathedral. The stone spires rose into the storm like jagged black teeth against the bruised-purple belly of the clouds.
We stopped beside an iron delivery gate overgrown with dead ivy. A second later, Natalia’s Mercedes pulled in behind us.
Natalia stepped out into the freezing sleet, completely unbothered by the cold, holding an umbrella over her silk coat. She walked up to our window, tapping on the glass.
Stellan rolled it down two inches.
"The organist’s door is unlocked," Natalia whispered, pointing toward a heavy wooden door studded with iron rivets. "The council is seated in the central nave. Julian is at the pulpit right now, presenting the forged guardianship papers."
Stellan turned to me. "Stay between me and Vance. Keep Fern's face covered. If the shooting starts, drop to the stone floor and don't get up until I tell you."
"I'm not hiding behind you, Stellan," I said, my voice hardening. "If I walk in there like a frightened victim, those men will tear us apart the moment you run out of bullets. I am Arthur Torrence's daughter. I walk in with my head up."
A rare, unmistakable gleam of respect flashed in Stellan's eyes. He nodded once.
"Then let's take your house back."
We moved through the shadows of the alley, swift and silent. Stellan led the stack, his suppressed pistol raised. Vance took the rear, while Kora guarded the vehicle with a high-powered rifle.
Natalia unlocked the heavy oak door with the gold key. It swung inward without a sound, revealing a narrow stone spiral staircase that wound upward into the choir loft behind the cathedral's massive pipe organ.
The smell of old incense, melting beeswax, and damp stone hit my nose. And beneath it, echoing from the vast vaulted ceiling of the nave below, was the amplified voice of Julian Torrence.
"...tragic loss of our dear cousin Stellan Cross in a residential fire earlier this evening," Julian's voice resonated through the cathedral, smooth, practiced, and dripping with false sorrow. "Along with the tragic demise of the young woman, Selene Marrow, and the unfortunate infant. As nearest surviving male kin, I formally petition the elder council to activate Article Nine of the Torrence Charter, transferring executive conservatorship of the family trust to my office."
We reached the choir loft.
Through the wooden filigree of the organ screen, we could look down into the immense, candlelit nave.
Seated in two rows of carved oak pews were twelve elderly men in tailored dark suits—the syndicate council. Surrounding the perimeter of the sanctuary were twenty heavily armed mercenaries in civilian tactical gear, their rifles held at low ready.
Standing at the marble pulpit beneath the towering crucifix was Julian Torrence. He wore an immaculate charcoal suit, his blond hair slicked back, holding a thick leather folder.
"Do any among the council voice objection?" Julian called out, his smile arrogant, knowing, victorious.
The twelve elders sat in silence. One old man with a cane slowly raised his hand to signify assent.
"I voice objection," a voice rang out.
It wasn't Stellan.
It was me.
I stepped out from behind the organ screen, walking directly onto the balcony of the choir loft, fully illuminated by the grand chandeliers hanging from the timber rafters.
Fern was awake against my chest, her dark eyes looking down at the sea of candles.
The entire cathedral went dead silent.
Julian froze at the pulpit, the color draining from his face as if he were looking at an apparition rising from hell.
The twelve council elders turned in their seats, gasping.
"My name is Evelyn Torrence," my voice echoed through the Gothic arches, clear, steady, and vibrating with cold fury. "Daughter of Arthur Torrence. And you are standing in my father’s church, attempting to steal my daughter's birthright."
Down below, chaos erupted.
Three council elders stood up, shouting in shock. Julian’s mercenaries raised their weapons toward the loft.
"Kill her!" Julian screamed, abandoning all pretense of legal protocol, his face contorting in manic rage. "Shoot them down! Now!"
Before the mercenaries could pull their triggers, Stellan stepped up beside me, racked the automatic shotgun, and leveled it over the balcony railing.
"Drop your weapons!" Stellan roared, his voice shaking the stained glass. "Or I blow your chairman across this altar!"
A mercenary on the right fired a burst.
The rounds shattered the wooden railing inches from my hip, sending splinters flying.
Stellan fired down into the nave, the thunderous blast echoing like a cannon shot. Two mercenaries near the communion rail dropped instantly.
Vance opened fire with his rifle, providing covering fire as Stellan grabbed my waist, pulling me behind a solid stone pillar.
"Down the stairs! Now!" Stellan shouted over the deafening roar of gunfire.
We turned toward the spiral staircase—and stopped dead.
Standing at the top of the stairs, holding a silenced automatic pistol aimed directly at my chest, was Natalia.
Beside her, two of her private guards held Vance at gunpoint, his rifle already knocked to the stone floor.
Natalia wasn't smiling anymore. Her green eyes were ice cold.
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"Thank you for interrupting the vote, sister," Natalia murmured, her finger tightening on the trigger. "Julian is officially disqualified by the council for treason. Which means the trust now defaults entirely to me... the moment you and that noisy little bastard hit the floor."
***
