Chapter 8 - Whispers of the Past|
The night brought a chill that had nothing to do with the mountain air. I sat in my study, the silver coin resting on the mahogany desk under the harsh glare of a reading lamp. The Volkovs had been silent for over two decades, banished to the shadows after a bloody turf war with my father. Their return now, just as the Vale family found peace, was no coincidence.
"You should be resting," Clara’s voice broke the silence. She stood in the doorway, wrapped in a thick wool shawl.
"I can't sleep. Not with this sitting here," I said, gesturing to the coin. "Dmitri Volkov is dead. His son, Viktor, must be the one sending this message. He’s trying to test the waters, seeing if the new, legitimate Vale empire still has teeth."
Clara walked over and stood behind my chair, her hands gently massaging my tense shoulders. "You promised Emma there would be no more violence. You promised yourself."
"I promised her safety," I corrected softly, reaching up to hold her hand. "Sometimes, securing peace requires a display of strength. If I ignore this, Viktor will see it as an invitation to invade our territory. I won't let him undo everything we've built."
The intercom on my desk buzzed, jarring us both. Marcus’s voice crackled through the speaker.
"Sir, we have a situation. One of our supply trucks was intercepted on the lower mountain road. The drivers are safe, but the cargo was burned to ashes."
I stood up, the chair scraping against the floorboards. The war had already begun.
"Lock down the estate," I commanded into the intercom. "Move Emma to the safe room in the basement. Clara, go with her."
May you like
"Sebastian, be careful," she pleaded, her eyes wide with fear.
"I will," I promised, grabbing my coat. "It’s time to remind the Volkovs why the wolves rule this mountain."
