Chapter 45
Chapter 45: The Surrey Sanctuary
The rain in Surrey was different from the storm in Chicago; it was soft, persistent, and smelled of wet earth and ancient boxwood. The manor house, known as The Cedars, sat at the end of a long, oak-lined avenue, its red-brick chimneys rising into the gray English sky like fingers from a grave.
Enzo and Harper breached the perimeter at dusk, avoiding the main driveway. They moved through the overgrown rose gardens, Bruno leading the way, his massive gray body low to the wet grass, his ears pinned back in a silent hunt.
There were no guards on the lawn. No security fences. The house seemed entirely asleep, the windows dark except for a faint, amber glow from the ground-floor library.
They entered through the conservatory, the glass panels sliding open with a faint hiss that was swallowed by the rain. Enzo cleared the doorway with his weapon raised, but the room was empty. The only sound was the crackle of a log fire and the slow, rhythmic ticking of a grandfather clock.
Sitting in a high-backed leather chair before the fire was an old man. He wore a heavy tweed jacket, his long legs crossed, a glass of dark port resting on the table beside him. He didn't look up as Enzo’s weapon locked onto the center of his chest.
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"You look just like your father, Enzo," the old man said, his voice a low, gravelly baritone that was an exact match to Enzo’s own. "Though you carry yourself with more hesitation. Your father never checked a room twice before he pulled the trigger."
Leo DeLuca—the ghost of Palermo—slowly turned his head, his face a roadmap of old scars and silver beard. "And you must be Harper. The girl who burned Geneva. I must say, your father’s ledger didn't do your mother's eyes justice."
