Chapter 3 - THE SECRET BENEATH THE BOATHOUSE
The brass key felt cold and ridiculously heavy in Nathaniel’s palm. For twenty-one years, he had lived under the shadow of a lie. On a rainy autumn night when he was just seventeen, his father, Arthur Cross, had stood over the body of a rival soldier and declared that Nathaniel’s mother, Eleanor, had sold their family secrets to the Salvatore family and fled into the night. Three days later, Eleanor’s car was pulled from the icy waters of Lake Michigan. No body was ever recovered, only her bloodied scarf.
Since that day, Nathaniel had hardened his heart. He had wiped out every threat, taken over his father's throne upon Arthur's death, and ruled Chicago's underworld with an iron fist. He had believed his mother was a traitor.
Until now.
"Clara, take Lily to your quarters," Nathaniel commanded, his voice tight with an emotion neither Clara nor Marcus had ever heard from him before. "Marcus, double the perimeter guard. Nobody enters or leaves this property without my personal clearance."
"Mr. Cross?" Clara asked, her eyes filled with concern as she reached for Lily's hand. "Are we in danger?"
Nathaniel looked at the child. Lily was currently trying to feed Titan a piece of dry biscuit from her pocket, and the giant dog was taking it with unbelievable gentleness. "You were in danger the moment you stepped onto my land, Clara. But as long as that dog is breathing, no one in this city will touch your daughter. Go."
Night fell like a thick velvet curtain over Lake Michigan. Rain began to beat against the stone walls of the estate, driven by a howling wind. At midnight, dressed in a black tactical coat and carrying a lantern, Nathaniel walked down the steep, slippery stone steps toward the abandoned boathouse at the edge of the property. Titan walked beside him, his ears pinned back, sniffing the wet air nervously.
The boathouse had been nailed shut since 2005. The wood was rotten, covered in thick ivy and moss. Nathaniel used a crowbar to break the heavy iron padlock, the wood groaning in protest as the heavy door swung open, revealing the dark, cavernous space inside. The smell of stagnant water and old oil filled the air.
Titan trotted toward the far corner of the boathouse, stopping near a pile of rotting wooden crates. He lowered his snout and let out a low, mournful whine.
Nathaniel stepped closer, holding the lantern high. There, buried under decades of debris and loose soil, was a square stone slab marked with the same three-headed raven crest as the key. Nathaniel knelt in the dirt, ignoring the mud soaking through his trousers. He cleared away the dirt, revealed a hidden keyhole, and inserted the brass key Lily had found.
With a heavy, metallic click, the lock turned.
Nathaniel lifted the heavy iron lid of the chest beneath the stone slab. Inside lay no gold, no money, and no weapons. Instead, there was a stack of leather-bound journals, a series of audio cassette tapes, and a sealed envelope addressed to: My Dearest Nathaniel.
With trembling fingers, Nathaniel broke the wax seal on the letter. The handwriting was elegant, slanting, and instantly recognizable. It was his mother's handwriting.
My darling boy, the letter began, written on paper now yellowed with age.
If you are reading this, it means I am dead, and Arthur has told you the lie he prepared for the world. He will tell you I betrayed our family. He will tell you I ran to the Salvatores. Do not believe him, Nathaniel.
Arthur was not the master of Chicago; he was a pawn. He was indebted to Dante Salvatore's father. To pay his debts, Arthur agreed to hand over our shipping routes and traffic human lives through the docks. When I found out, I refused to let him destroy our family's soul. I gathered the evidence — the ledger of Arthur’s true transactions, the names of every corrupt official in Dante’s pocket, and the truth about who really murdered the federal judges in 1998.
Arthur found out. He threatened to kill you, my sweet seventeen-year-old boy, if I did not hand over the ledger. I hid the ledger in this chest. Titan’s mother, Bella, helped me hide it here. I know Arthur will kill me tonight. But I leave this truth for you, hoping that one day you will use it not to continue this bloody war, but to break the chains that bind our family to darkness.
I love you, Nathaniel. Always.
Nathaniel sat in the cold dampness of the boathouse, the letter shaking in his hands. Tears — the first tears he had shed in over twenty years — spilled from his eyes, tracing hot lines down his cold cheeks. His entire life had been built on a foundation of deceit. His father had murdered his mother and blamed their greatest enemy, using her "traitorous memory" to groom Nathaniel into a ruthless killing machine.
Suddenly, Titan let out a fierce, guttural bark, turning his head toward the entrance of the boathouse.
From the darkness outside, the sound of footsteps crunching on wet gravel echoed over the roar of the lake wind.
Nathaniel snapped the chest shut, drew his custom suppressed pistol from his holster, and stepped into the shadows.
"I must admit, Cross," a voice sneered from the entrance. It was a voice Nathaniel knew all too well — smooth, arrogant, and laced with malice. "I owe that little girl a debt of gratitude. Without her little digging expedition today, my men would have spent another decade searching this miserable rock for Eleanor’s ledger."
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Dante Salvatore walked into the beam of Nathaniel’s lantern, surrounded by six heavily armed mercenaries wearing night-vision goggles and holding submachine guns.
In Dante's hand was a small black radio receiver. And on the screen of his phone, displaying a live feed from inside the manor, was a picture of Clara and Lily, trapped in their apartment with red laser dots dancing across their chests.
