Chapter 8 - The Return of the Dead
Grace stepped out of the kitchen shadows into the hallway, her breath catching in her throat.
Standing on the porch beneath the dim amber glow of the entryway light was a man leaning heavily on a carved walnut cane. His face was weathered, lined with deep scars across the left jawline, and his eyes burned with an unsettling, manic intensity.
It was Julian Vance—Marcus Vance’s estranged older brother, a man rumored to have fled the country a decade ago after an internal war broke out among Baltimore’s independent freight syndicates.
"Julian," Dominic said, his hand resting casually inches from his holster. "The Atlantic is a big ocean. You picked a poor time to swim back."
Julian laughed, a dry, rattling sound that lacked any genuine humor. He stepped uninvited past Dominic into the hallway, his boots tracking wet autumn leaves onto the pristine hardwood. His eyes flicked past Dominic, landing straight on Grace standing by the kitchen archway.
Julian’s smile widened into something razor-sharp.
"Well, well," Julian whispered, leaning heavily on his cane as he took a slow step toward her. "They told me Elena Vance died in a fiery crash off Cape May. They said Dominic Rainer buried her so deep even the Coast Guard divers gave up." Julian tilted his head, his eyes scanning Grace’s face from top to bottom. "Must be exhausting wearing a cheap apron when you used to sign off on multi-million-dollar maritime manifests, sis."
Dominic crossed the distance between them in a blur, his hand clamping onto Julian’s shoulder with enough force to make the older man wince.
"Touch her or speak her name again, Julian, and I won't just lock you out of Baltimore," Dominic murmured, his voice so quiet it barely registered above the hum of the refrigerator. "I’ll scatter what’s left of you across the Chesapeake."
Julian didn't look afraid. He just grinned wider, turning his gaze back to Dominic.
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"You can threaten me all you want, Dom," Julian wheezed, pulling a crumpled manila envelope from his overcoat pocket. "But the U.S. Attorney’s office already has the audio file from Sloane Mercer’s live stream. They know Elena is alive. And by morning, federal marshals won't care about your real estate acquisitions or your corporate mergers. They’ll want to know why your wife committed insurance fraud and faked her own death to protect a smuggling ring."
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