chapter 10:EVE OF THE SIEGE

CHAPTER 10: EVE OF THE SIEGE

The private holding room off the east transept of St. Jude’s Cathedral smelled of centuries-old stone, melted tallow, stale incense, and cold lakefront rain. Outside the stained-glass windows, a muffled, chaotic roar rose from the street below a sharp, mechanical blend of flashing news cameras, shouting photojournalists, and the heavy idling of armored motorcades. High society had gathered to witness the Mercer line being formally absorbed into the Vane syndicate, treating the black-tie ceremony like a grand, theatrical tragedy.

They believed they were sitting in the front row of a high-stakes high-society merger. They didn't know they were sitting in the front row of a war zone.

Inside the holding room, I stood in total isolation. I had kicked the heavy oak door shut against the whispers of Julian’s hired logistics team and security details, leaving me alone with a towering marble crucifix resting on the antique mantle.

My hands were folded tightly in front of my dress. Beneath the heavy ivory silk, the platinum orchid brooch pressed cold against my ribs the passive micro-bug humming into silent, unroutable readiness. It was waiting for Julian’s encrypted phones, his master flash drives, and his private wire transfers.

Ten minutes, Clara, I thought, staring into the single flickering flame of a votive candle. Ten minutes until I step into his vault and begin burning his world to the ground.

The heavy iron latch on the transept door clicked open with a sharp, echoing snap.

I didn't turn around right away. I watched the dark reflection in the polished mahogany paneling of the mantle as the heavy wood swung wide.

Julian stepped into the room.

He had shed his dark topcoat, leaving him in a tailored, midnight-black tuxedo that accentuated his broad 6'3" frame, heavy shoulders, and lean, athletic build. He moved with that silent, predatory authority that made every room he entered feel instantly smaller, instantly more dangerous. The cold air in the holding room was immediately suffused with his distinct scent sandalwood, rain, expensive wool, and cold iron.

He didn't bother locking the heavy door behind him. He didn't need to; no one on his payroll was suicidal enough to interrupt him.

He stopped three paces behind me, his silver-gray eyes tracking the exposed curve of my neck down to where my dark lace veil ended against my bare collarbones.

"You should be at the head of the aisle, Vane," I said softly, my voice smooth, cold, and stripped of all hesitation. "It’s bad luck for the groom to corner the bride in the dark before the altar walk."

"I don't believe in luck, Evelyn," Julian replied, his low, gravelly baritone reverberating off the cold stone walls like a low-frequency hum. "And we are way past bad omens."

He crossed the remaining distance with deliberate, unhurried strides until his chest was bare inches from my back. The sheer heat radiating off his body burned straight through the thick silk of my gown, sending a sharp, unwanted pulse of adrenaline skittering across my skin.

"Your father just made his final move," Julian murmured, his breath hot against the shell of my ear.

I turned slowly to face him, my steel-blue eyes locking onto his sharp, scar-lined face. "What did Richard do?"

"He tried to sell his remaining forty percent stake in Mercer Financial to a syndicate broker out of Detroit twenty minutes ago," Julian said, a dark, arrogant smile touching the corners of his razor-sharp lips. "He thought if he liquidated his assets, he could board a flight to London before we finished exchanging vows. He wanted to leave you holding an empty shell of debt and an empty name."

A cold, razor-sharp wave of disgust hit me. He tried to cut and run. My own father wanted to leave me trapped in Julian's jaws with no standing, no leverage, and no family safety net.

"And?" I demanded, stepping directly into his space. "I assume you didn't let him board."

"I bought the shares myself," Julian said smoothly, stepping closer until his leather boots brushed mine. "All forty percent. By the time we step up to the cardinal, I won't just own your father's debt, I’ll own every account, server, and desk your family line ever built."

His broad, calloused hand shot out with terrifying speed, his fingers catching my jaw in a firm, possessive grip. He tilted my face upward, his broad thumb dragging with deliberate pressure over my lower lip over the faint crimson stain he had left there during our fitting.

"He discarded you, little auditor," Julian purred, his silver eyes flashing with dark, arrogant amusement. "He threw you straight to the wolves to cover his own skin."

"He didn't throw me to the wolves," I whispered back, my voice dripping with pure ice as I wrapped my fingers tightly around his wrist, digging my nails hard into his tailored sleeve. "He threw me to you."

Julian let out a low, dark sound a dangerous rumble in his chest that vibrated right through his ribcage. His hand tightened on my jaw, his thumb dragging hard across my pulse point, feeling my heart hammering fast and fierce against his skin.

"Last chance to run, Mrs. Vane," he rasped, his mouth dipping until his lips were a fraction of an inch from mine. His gaze dropped to my mouth, heavy with a thick, suffocating heat that made my breath hitch in my throat. "The back service door opens into the alley. My driver can put you on a private jet to Canada before the news media even notices you're missing. You can run, hide, and live a soft, cowardly life."

I didn't flinch. I didn't step back an inch.

I squeezed his wrist tighter, leaning up on my toes until my lips brushed his jawline.

"I don't run, Julian," I spat, my steel-blue eyes burning into his silver ones. "I came here for a war. Now drag me to the altar."

Julian’s silver eyes flared with pure, lethal satisfaction. His smirk deepened, sharp and utterly ruthless. He reversed our grip in a split second, his thick fingers tangling through mine, squeezing until the bones of my hand pressed together in an inescapable hold.

"Then let's go walk into hell, little bride," he purred, jerking me toward the heavy oak doors just as the cathedral organ thundered its opening roar.