Chapter 12 - The Secrets We Keep
By the time my black armored SUV pulled up to the wrought-iron security gates, a sleek, black sedan with diplomatic flags fluttering faintly in the freezing wind was idling just outside the property line.
A man in a charcoal tailored wool overcoat stood outside the sedan, hands tucked deep into his pockets, breathing plumes of white mist into the frigid air. As my vehicle stopped and I stepped out, wrapped in my own heavy cashmere coat, the man turned.
He was in his late forties, with sharp, aristocratic features, silver-streaked dark hair, and cold, calculating grey eyes that looked entirely out of place in the rustic charm of upstate New York.
“Julian Cole,” the man said, his English accented with a refined, transatlantic cadence. “A pleasure to finally meet the man who has been harboring my runaway niece.”
My muscles tightened instantly. Niece.
“You’re standing on private property,” I replied, my voice hard as granite, ignoring his greeting completely. “And unless you want the New York State Police escorting you back to Manhattan in handcuffs for trespassing and harassment, you’ll state your name and your exact business within sixty seconds.”
The man gave a thin, humorless smile, adjusting his silk scarf. “Forgive me. Manners are easily forgotten when one travels across state lines to find family. My name is Alejandro Santos. And Maria... or rather, Mariana Santos—is my younger brother’s only daughter.”
The name hit me like a physical blow. Mariana Santos.
Maria had never shared her full last name with me, explaining only that her family had been broken long before she ever met Richard Vance. I had never pushed, respecting her boundaries. But the name Santos carried weight—heavy, dangerous, international weight. The Santos family controlled shipping conglomerates, real estate empires across South America, and political connections that spanned continents.
“Maria doesn't want anything to do with your family,” I said coldly, stepping closer to the iron gate. “She hasn't for years.”
Alejandro chuckled, though there was no warmth in his eyes. “Mr. Cole, you are a brilliant businessman, but you understand very little of bloodlines. Mariana made a foolish, rebellious choice when she married a lowlife like Richard Vance, running away from her responsibilities and hiding like a common criminal. But her father is gone now. The estate has passed down, and certain... obligations must be met.”
“She is not an obligation. She is my wife. And she is safe here.”
Alejandro’s smile vanished, replaced by a mask of chilling indifference. He pulled a pristine, heavy leather cardholder from his pocket, extracting a thick cream-colored envelope sealed with a red wax crest.
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“She thinks she is safe behind your iron gates and private security,” Alejandro said softly, stepping right up to the other side of the bars. “She thinks Richard Vance was her only nightmare. But she belongs to a world you cannot protect her from, Mr. Cole. Give her this letter. Tell her that her grandfather’s council has reconvened. And if she does not return to New York by Sunday to claim her birthright... the consequences will extend far beyond this little estate.”
He tossed the heavy envelope onto the hood of my SUV, turned his back without another word, slid into the sleek diplomatic sedan, and sped away down the snowy highway, leaving me standing in the freezing wind with a storm brewing in my chest.
