134 Shadows of the Bayou: Blood, Betrayal, and the Cold Vengeance of a Broken Empire

Toby dropped to his knees, his hands flying up defensively as the cold barrel of Vincent’s revolver leveled squarely between his eyes.

"Mr. Castellano—don't shoot! Please, Mr. Castellano, I swear I didn't mean for it to go this far!" Toby whimpered, his teeth clicking together so hard Vincent could hear them across the desk.

"Keep your voice down, Toby," Vincent said, his tone dangerously smooth. He didn't lower the gun by a millimeter. "Unless you want your next conversation to be with Marcus Ellery's shovel crew out by the marsh. Why is a boy who cleans horse stalls walking through my side door at two in the morning?"

Toby swallowed hard, his wide eyes darting down toward the kneehole of the desk. For a split second, he seemed to realize something was under there, but Vincent’s physical presence forced his attention back upward.

"They made me do it!" Toby choked out, tears spilling over his eyelashes. "Mr. Moreau’s men... they caught my brother down in Thibodaux. He got mixed up in some poker debts, owed five grand to the wrong people. They said if I didn't leave the side latch open on Tuesday night and leave a spare key under the flagstone... they’d break his legs."

Vincent narrowed his eyes, studying the boy’s trembling frame. "And the man who came in through that door three nights ago. Was that your brother?"

"No," Toby whispered, shaking his head frantically. "That was Moreau’s personal enforcer—a guy they call Creole Joe. He was supposed to scare you, Mr. Castellano. Just scare you into signing over the Lake Pontchartrain shipping rights. But then... then little Addy walked out into the corridor, and Joe lost his nerve. He bolted."

From beneath the desk, Addy’s small voice piped up, clear and unimpeded.

"He dropped his knife by the magnolia tree," she said. "I saw it from the landing."

Toby gasped, looking down in horror as Addy crawled out from under the desk, her little duck pajamas brushing the floorboards. She looked up at the trembling stable hand with absolute indifference.

Vincent kept the gun steady, his mind racing. Julian Moreau hadn't sent an assassin to kill him; he had sent a message. A brutal, bloody warning wrapped in a Louisiana knife fight. But Moreau had underestimated one vital variable: the house itself, and the small girl who knew how to push red buttons.

"Toby," Vincent said softly, lowering the gun just an inch. "Did you leave the gate latch open tonight too?"

"N-no!" Toby sobbed. "I swear on my mother’s grave, Mr. Castellano! I came here tonight because I wanted to quit! I brought the key back! I was going to put it on your desk!"