Chapter 3 - Blood on the Marble
The grand foyer of the Vosa estate was designed to overwhelm. Pillars of black-veined marble soared up to a vaulted ceiling painted with scenes of ancient maritime conquest, and a chandelier of a thousand crystal drops hung suspended over a floor polished to a mirror shine.
Tonight, that shine was marred by a spreading puddle of dark, expensive wine and the glittering shards of a shattered crystal decanter.
Zora Drazza stood in the center of the wreckage, her silk gown brushing the debris as if it were mere dust. She was a tall woman with hair the color of wet slate and eyes like obsidian beads—sharp, calculating, and utterly devoid of warmth. Behind her stood her father, Don Albin Drazza, a heavy-set man whose fingers were weighed down by rings that looked like small brass knuckles, and four of his personal enforcers, their hands resting casually beneath their suit jackets where the steel was tucked.
"A domestic accident, Saurin," Zora said, her voice carrying a thin, mocking edge as Vosa descended the grand staircase, with Casian trailing half a step behind and Vesna lingering quietly in the shadows near the service archway. "Your new staff are terribly clumsy. I tried to pour a glass to toast our happy union, and the girl simply... let go."
Saurin’s gaze swept over the scene. He didn't look at Zora; he looked at the lead enforcer standing behind Albin—a man named Kael, whose face bore a fresh, jagged bruise across his jaw, and whose eyes flicked nervously toward the dark corridors.
"You're early, Albin," Saurin said, his voice dropping the temperature in the room by several degrees as he reached the foot of the stairs. "The wedding contract specifies Thursday evening for the arrival. Today is Monday."
Don Albin chuckled, a wet, heavy sound that rattled in his broad chest. "Plans change, my boy. When you're merging two empires, you don't wait for the ink to dry to check the inventory. We heard whispers that your house was... leaking. That you were cleaning out staff because you didn't trust who was watching your back." Albin took a slow step forward, his boots crunching deliberately on the crystal shards. "We thought we'd come early to help you secure the perimeter. Bring our own people in. After all, a bride shouldn't have to worry about stepping on glass on her wedding night."
The subtext hung in the air like poison gas. This wasn't an early visit; it was a hostile takeover disguised as a family gathering. The Drazzas were moving their soldiers into position three days ahead of schedule to lock down the harbor gates before the Vosa loyalists could mobilize.
Saurin felt the familiar, cold fury begin to spool in his gut. He looked at Zora. She wasn't looking at the wine or the glass; she was looking at his desk keys, which Casian usually carried, but which Saurin had left on the front console table.
She wanted the ports. She wanted the whole operation, wrapped in a legal marriage certificate and signed in blood.
"Your people stay outside the gates," Saurin said quietly. "Or they don't leave at all."
Kael, the enforcer, snorted and stepped past Albin, his hand sliding an inch deeper into his jacket. "You're a lonely man, Vosa. Your brother's dead, your guards are soft, and by Thursday, this house—"
He never finished the sentence.
From the dark archway behind the stairs, a shadow detached itself from the wall. It wasn't Saurin, and it wasn't Casian.
Vesna Tor had not gone back to the kitchen. She stood with a heavy, brass-bound ledger in one hand—the very ledger Saurin had left in his study—and her pale eyes fixed on Kael with an intensity that made the hardened killer flinch. But it wasn't Vesna who moved first.
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A low, vibrating growl shook the marble floor.
Vuk came bounding out of the east corridor like a cannonball of muscle and matted fur. He didn't aim for Albin; he didn't aim for Zora. He went straight for Kael’s throat, sixty pounds of fury slamming into the enforcer with the force of a falling safe.
