Chapter 7 - Shadows of the Past
Love in a world of crime is never simple.
As winter turned to early spring, melting the heavy snows into rushing mountain streams, my relationship with Julian deepened into something profound and unbreakable. He was no longer just the feared head of the Vance syndicate; to me, he was a deeply loyal, fiercely protective man who brought me wild coffee flowers from his travels and kissed me lingeringly in the quiet corners of the estate.
He funded my nursing degree fully, enrolling me in a top-tier private program where I could complete my studies online and through specialized clinical rotations. My dream wasn't dead; he had resurrected it.
But the past has long fingers.
It happened on a Tuesday afternoon. Julian was down town at a high-level meeting with the regional commission, negotiating a quiet, legal transition of his assets into legitimate real estate development—a move he was making entirely for Chloe and me.
I was in the estate garden with Chloe, helping her plant tulip bulbs in the thawed earth, when Viktor approached us, his face uncharacteristically pale.
"Lena," Viktor said, his voice flat. "Inside. Now."
"What's wrong?" I stood up, wiping the soil from my hands, sensing the sudden shift in atmosphere. The perimeter guards were moving fast, taking up defensive positions along the wall.
"A package was delivered to the front gate," Viktor said, escorting us swiftly inside the house. "Addressed specifically to you."
In the central holding room, a heavy wooden box sat on the steel table. Bomb technicians had already scanned it—it was safe from explosives. But what lay inside was a message of a different kind.
Julian arrived twenty minutes later, his face thunderous, his coat flying behind him as he stormed into the room. "Where is it?"
Viktor stepped aside, pointing to the open box.
Inside rested an old, rusted brass key and a photograph. The photograph was of me—taken three years ago, working the night shift at a diner in downtown Chicago, long before I ever came to this mountain town. On the back of the photo, written in dark red ink, were six words:
DEBTS ARE NEVER PAID IN SNOW.
Julian picked up the key, his fingers white with tension. His jaw worked as he stared at the brass metal.
"Julian," I whispered, reaching out to touch his arm. "What is that? Who sent it?"
May you like
Julian slowly closed his fist over the key. When he looked at me, there was a raw, primal pain in his eyes that I had never seen before.
"It's from Arthur Vance," Julian said quietly. "My father."
