Chapter 1 - The Yellow Room
The pale yellow paint of the nursery had faded slightly over two years of darkness, but as Marnie Walsh flicked on the lamps, the room felt less like a tomb and more like a sanctuary. Gideon carried the baby inside, his large, scarred hands looking entirely out of place against her soft pink blanket. For twenty-four months, he had avoided this wing of Ironwood Mansion. Now, the heavy silence of the room was broken by the soft, rhythmic breathing of his daughter.
“She’s beautiful, Gideon,” Marnie whispered, her voice thick with unshed tears. She had known Gideon since he was a boy, long before the coldness of the Chicago underworld had settled into his bones. “She has Lydia’s chin. And those eyes... God rest her soul, or wherever she is.”
“She’s alive, Marnie,” Gideon said, his voice a low, gravelly rumble. He laid the baby down in the crib that had sat empty for so long. “Or she was. Whoever wrote that note knew things only family would know.”
He stepped away from the crib, his mind racing. Trust no Mercer. The words burned in his chest. His father was dead. His mother was dead. That left only one other Mercer besides himself: his younger brother, Nolan. Nolan, who had been the reckless one, the charming one, the brother who handled the legitimate front of the Mercer enterprise—the real estate holdings, the shipping docks, the clean money.
Pierce Maddox stepped into the nursery doorway, his face grim. He didn't enter; he knew better than to bring the scent of gunpowder and rain too close to the child. “Boss, the perimeter is locked down. I’ve got guards every ten yards. If anyone approaches the gates, they won’t make it to the driveway.”
“And Nolan?” Gideon asked, not turning around.
“He’s still scheduled to arrive at seven for the morning briefing. He thinks we’re discussing the union dispute at the harbor,” Pierce replied. “Do you want me to intercept him?”
“No,” Gideon said, his eyes tracking the rise and fall of the baby’s chest. “Let him come. But change the meeting location to the study. And Pierce? Have two of your most loyal men watch him from the moment his car enters the property. If he makes a single move that looks wrong, take him down.”
Pierce nodded once and vanished into the shadows of the hallway.
Gideon walked over to the window, looking out into the torrential Chicago rain. The city looked like a smear of neon and black ink through the glass. For two years, he had operated under the assumption that an outside rival—the Valetti family or the Bratva—had targeted Lydia to weaken him. He had launched a bloody, silent war that had decimated their ranks, earning himself the reputation of a heartless monster.
But if the enemy was inside his own house? If his own blood had orchestrated the crash on Harbor Bridge?
He reached into his pocket and pulled out the small, scratched silver locket. He pressed his thumb against the familiar groove. Lydia had worn this the morning she disappeared. She had kissed him on the cheek, smelling of lavender soap, and told him she’d be back before dinner.
“Give me something that opens,” she had said. “Something that can hold a secret.”
The secret wasn't just a photograph. The secret was that she had known his family was rotten to the core.
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The baby let out a soft whine in her sleep, turning onto her side. Gideon walked back to the crib, reaching out a single, hesitant finger. The baby’s tiny hand instinctively wrapped around it. Her grip was tight, desperate, as if she knew he was her only anchor in a world that wanted her gone.
“I don’t care who stands in my way,” Gideon whispered into the dim light of the yellow room. “No one touches you. No one.”
