Chapter 3 - The Echo of Hollow Wood
Ten minutes later, Dominic concluded his transaction with the Chicago syndicate. He turned back toward the mezzanine, expecting to see his daughter waiting with Marcus. Instead, the area was empty.
Dominic’s jaw tightened. The calm atmosphere surrounding him vanished instantly, replaced by a suffocating pressure that made the nearby bodyguards drop their heads. He signaled his second-in-command, a stone-faced enforcer named Frank.
"Where is Maisie?" Dominic asked, his voice low and dangerous.
"She was with Marcus, boss," Frank replied, his heart hammering against his ribs.
At that moment, Marcus jogged back into the ballroom, looking flustered. Dominic intercepted him in three long strides, grabbing the large bodyguard by the front of his suit jacket with a single, massive hand.
"Where is my daughter?" Dominic growled, pulling Marcus close enough to smell the fear on his breath.
"Boss—Lady Lucinda said you called me to the study! She said she would watch Miss Maisie!" Marcus stammered, pale as a sheet.
Dominic let go of Marcus, his mind instantly piecing together the betrayal. He didn't shout. He didn't panic. He simply began to walk. The crowd parted instinctively before him like the Red Sea. Dominic moved through the grand hall, his sharp eyes scouring every corner, every shadow, every smile.
He walked past the high-arched doorway into the quiet parlor wing. The music from the main hall faded into a low hum. Dominic stood in the center of the silent parlor, his senses hyper-tuned to his environment. He closed his eyes, filtering out the ambient noise of the party.
Thump.
It was tiny. Faint. Almost imperceptible.
Thump. Thump.
Dominic froze. His eyes snapped open. He lowered his gaze to the floor. Slowly, deliberately, he stepped toward the center of the room. His heavy leather shoes struck the floorboards. Solid. Solid. Solid.
Then, he took one step to the left, near the edge of the large oriental rug. He tapped his heel.
May you like
Hollow.
Dominic’s breathing slowed to a lethal rhythm. He knelt down, ripped the heavy rug away with a violent sweep of his arm, and spotted the hidden brass latch embedded in the oak.
