Chapter 8
The Hawthornes arrived before midnight.
Only two.
Elias Hawthorne and his sister Miriam.
No army.
No threats.
I had invited them because their name was about to appear in a ransom message designed to start a war.
They deserved warning.
Elias entered the conservatory, saw Gideon, and laughed.
“Of course.”
Interesting.
“You suspected?”
“Not this.”
He looked at Gideon.
“But desperation makes him creative.”
Gideon stood.
“You don’t speak to me—”
I raised one hand.
He stopped.
Old habits still useful.
I explained the plan.
Not every detail about Marielle.
That belonged partly to her.
Enough.
Elias’s amusement disappeared when he understood his family had been chosen as kidnappers.
“Why us?”
Gideon said nothing.
Miriam answered:
“Because if Benedict believed it, he wouldn’t ask about the debt.”
Exactly.
The kidnapping was not merely to obtain ransom.
It was meant to transform creditor into enemy.
If conflict followed, Gideon’s unpaid obligations became morally irrelevant.
Better yet, records of old arrangements might disappear with relationships.
No ledger needed.
Just chaos.
Elias looked at me.
“What are you going to do?”
A test.
Old Mafia reflex.
Violence expected.
I looked at Gideon.
Then Odessa.
Then Julian.
“Nothing tonight.”
Elias raised an eyebrow.
“Nothing?”
“No war.”
That mattered.
Gideon’s entire plan assumed my pride could be predicted.
My fiancée taken.
My estate breached.
I retaliate.
Men like Gideon build schemes around masculine certainty.
Insult him and he must strike.
Threaten his woman and he must burn something.
Predictable men are easy to weaponize.
I refused.
Elias smiled faintly.
“Your father would have hated that answer.”
“My father enjoyed unnecessary funerals.”
Miriam almost laughed.
Good.
The Hawthornes would collect what Gideon legitimately owed them through private business arrangements.
Not my concern.
No kidnapping story.
No feud.
No eight million from me.
Gideon’s face finally cracked.
He had built an entire night around everyone behaving exactly as pride instructed.
May you like
Then I simply didn’t.
Sometimes the cleanest way to destroy a trap is to refuse the emotion it was designed to trigger.
