Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

Gabe

T he stark modernity of my parents' contemporary mansion echoes the chill of their affection—or lack thereof. I didn't live here by choice or necessity but rather by lack of caring to live anywhere else. The twenty-two-thousand-square-foot abode ensured I could have complete sanctuary from their icy influence but all that space feels suffocating now.

I can't really bemoan the gilded cage I grew up in or the fact that my parents were emotionally absent from my and Alaine's lives. My father, Lionel, was always at the helm of our bourbon empire and my mother, Rosemund, was always at the country club drowning her woes in dirty martinis. But that was the only life I knew and it never felt lacking to me in all the years I've been alive. Many people consider me as cold as my parents and they wouldn't be wrong.

Even now, I don't think I've missed out on anything, but it feels wrong staying here. The halls are tainted with Lionel's treachery and I'm drowning in guilt by association because of what he did to Sylvie. I might be a hard-hearted bastard but if there is one person on this earth who owns whatever softness hides within me, it's my niece.

How can I stay in this place when it shelters such betrayal? Such downright evil?

Rosemund's voice cuts through the air, sharp and unyielding as I head toward the front door, a designer leather duffel bag in hand. I'll send someone else for the rest of my bags but for now, it's enough to make my escape. "Gabe, you cannot be serious. Leaving now is madness—abandoning your father when he needs us most."

I set my bag down, adjust the cuff of my custom Italian suit and face my mother. "You mean sticking by the man who tried to kill his own granddaughter for profit? That's where you set the line of family loyalty?"

She bristles, her facade of perfection trembling as her mouth presses into a flat line. "We are Mardraggons. We stand together."

"Not this time," I growl, my resolve as solid as the gray marble floor I stand on. "Not after what he did."

"Your father is innocent. His attorney said all they have is circumstantial evidence. It's why he was granted bail."

I grimace at the reminder he's getting out of jail and will, in fact, be arriving here within the hour. It's why I'm not delaying my exit. The judge was moved by dad's attorney enough to grant bail for a million dollars, forfeiture of his passport, and house arrest outside of work hours until his trial.

"This is all your fault," she hisses as she takes a step toward me, her gray eyes chilly with blame. "He wouldn't be in this predicament had you kept your mouth shut."

I've not had this out yet with my mom and it takes hardly anything at all for me to lose my shit. I glare at her, my voice dripping with scorn. "He tried to kill Sylvie. Your own flesh and blood. Alaine's daughter. How can you stand by his side?"

"He did not," she asserts, her voice sharp as she sniffs disdainfully. Her chin lifts, a clear gesture of defiance and dismissal. Her eyes, cold and calculating, lock onto me. "And we cannot afford to have this scandal hanging over us. The future of our company depends on these charges going away. So, we need to rally—"

I erupt with laughter, my head tilting as genuine but dark amusement overtakes me. I fix my gaze on hers, unblinking and piercing. "Oh, I see what's really going on here. You're afraid of all this going away. Your cushy lifestyle being swept out from under you."

It's a legitimate worry to have and she snaps her mouth shut because she knows I'm right. Rosemund does not love Lionel, nor does he love her. But she does love this lifestyle and he does love having a woman who will do his bidding no matter what.

I'm not about to let this company falter. I've called an emergency meeting of the board of directors and I've got plans of my own that will ensure the Mardraggon empire will continue to flourish. I don't share that with her though.

Bending over, I grab the duffel and pivot away from my mother. As I swing open the left side of the double doors, her voice cuts through. "Where are you going?"

"Far away from here," I mutter and step out onto the flat portico that's as austere as the rest of the house. All gray concrete and boxwood bushes trimmed with such precision, you could cut yourself on a corner. I always appreciated the clean lines and lack of frills but again… it all somehow seems wrong now and I'm not sure why.

I only know I've got to get the fuck out of here.

I leave Rosemund watching me with condemnation as I stalk toward the sleek red Ferrari SF90 Spider. Seven hundred and sixty-nine horsepower that I often take advantage of on Kentucky's winding back roads and I didn't blink an eye at the $580,000 price tag.

I toss the duffel in the passenger seat, rev the engine and peel out of the driveway, hoping the speed by which I exit is further proof to my mother that I can't get away fast enough.

Leaving all the poison behind.

It's guilt you're leaving behind, Gabe.

That thought comes unbidden and I push it away. I will not feel guilty about what I did to my father. He brought that upon himself.

But what if he didn't give her penicillin? What if Sylvie really has a heart condition or some other medical unknown that caused her to nearly die almost a week ago? The doctors didn't test her for penicillin poisoning at first, and the only proof the police have is the prescription pad I found in my father's office that had the faint imprint of what looked to be a prescription written for penicillin, but even that is dubious.

On the other hand, the police told me that it's more than just finding the prescription pad in his office. Lionel knew she had an allergy to the drug and it was damning that he would inherit the winery if she died. Couple that with the fact the prescription was written just three days before Sylvie came to stay the night and it was filled at a local pharmacy, Lionel was arrested because the circumstantial evidence was overwhelming.

Still… it was just circumstantial. No one saw him dose her.

But you know he did it , my subconscience pokes at me.

I pound on the steering wheel in frustration. I can't let these doubts surface. What's done is done and I have to trust that justice will prevail. If my father is innocent, then the truth will out. That's all I can hope for.

But until such time, I'm moving on with my life and my main priority is to keep Mardraggon Enterprises prospering and profitable.

I glance at my wrist, eyeing the sleek Patek Phillipe that circles it—a timepiece I snagged for just half what this car cost. The watch's elegant face, framed by a polished gold bezel, marks me fifteen minutes behind schedule for my appointment. Even though I'm used to people catering to me—I'm a Mardraggon, after all—I don't like to be late. It's bad business, so I put a quick call into the Realtor and let her know of my delay. She assures me it's fine as I drive the ten miles deeper into Shelby County, past saddlebred and thoroughbred farms.

While I guide the Ferrari past undulating hills, the heated conversation with Ethan Blackburn from this morning replays in my head like a bad track stuck on a loop. I'd received a cryptic email from him two days ago, telling me he doesn't have time to devote to the winery business and that he's going to have his sister, Kat, work on it. While Ethan will make joint decisions with me on big items, he's going to rely on Kat to serve as his liaison because he's simply too busy with "other things."

I called bullshit on that. It's clear that Ethan is creating a divide he won't let me cross. Not that I want to get any closer to him, but Sylvie stands on the other side of the chasm with him and I would very much like to see my niece.

I called him four times in a desperate attempt to bridge the distance that the feud and my father's heinous actions have created, and the fucker finally deigned to call me back this morning.

The first order of business was to nip his insane idea to have me deal with Kat on the winery. "I'm not dealing with your sister. She's a horse trainer, not a businessperson."

"She's smart as hell," Ethan retorted sharply and while I actually know this about Kat, I'm not about to validate it. "But she won't be making decisions. Just taking some of the workload off me."

I don't want to deal with Kat. She will be a royal pain in my ass and a distraction I don't need. In the end, I have no choice because Ethan said, "Deal with her or you'll have to wait until I'm in a position when I have time."

I suppose it is plausible he's just too busy but then the next part of the conversation devolved quickly—and that's how I know he's avoiding me.

"I would like to see Sylvie," I requested politely.

"Not going to happen," Ethan replied, the razor edge to his tone telling me I'd hit directly on his reticence.

"She's my niece," I stated evenly. "I love her."

"Your father tried to kill her," Ethan barked.

"And I turned him into the police," I grit out. Ethan remained silent, so I plunged forward. "I'm moving out of their house today. Sylvie has to be very confused, Ethan. She needs to hear the truth from me. She has to understand I was not a part of that and I've broken ties with my parents."

Ethan's voice conveyed a blend of irritation and defeat. "She knows you turned your father in, Gabe. But that doesn't change the fact that she needs space from all Mardraggons right now."

"For how long?" I asked, knowing I couldn't do a damn thing but abide by whatever he said.

"Until she's ready. It's not just me who has a problem with your family. Sylvie is scared. It's going to take some time."

"Is she seeing someone? A counselor or therapist?" I'm not a big believer in therapy. I navigated my family's dysfunction by hardening myself. But Sylvie still has a chance at a normal life, despite the horrors she's been through.

"Yes, she is. And she's working through things."

"I'm willing to go to therapy with her," I proposed earnestly. "You can be there too. Or at least let me see her in your presence."

"When she's ready," Ethan says, and then adds, "and maybe not even then. I have to be sure about things too and I don't know if the police have cleared you."

Hell, I didn't even know if the police had cleared me yet. They'd swept through the Mardraggon mansion with search warrants and crime scene technicians, pulling out boxes of documents, every computer, tablet and phone in the house. I knew they'd find nothing tying me to any plot to kill Sylvie, but I guess until they officially clear me to Ethan, I won't be getting anywhere near my niece.

"Kat will reach out to you to go over the winery stuff," Ethan said. "Make sure you treat her with respect."

"Or else you'll kick my ass?" I taunted.

"Don't have time," he replied with a snide laugh. "But I'll send Trey and Wade out to do it. Although now that I think about it, Kat's more than capable of handing you your own ass."

Didn't I know that firsthand?

The conversation ended, but his words lingered, stoking the fire of my determination. I won't let my father's sins screw the future I'm trying to build—for Sylvie, for the winery, for me. I press the accelerator, the engine's roar a defiant cry against blacktop roads.

When I pull up to the house that was just listed for sale three days ago, I don't give it much of a once-over. I've driven by this estate hundreds of times in my life and have always admired the sprawling sixty-two acres that house a seventeen-thousand-square-foot mansion complete with ten bedrooms and eighteen baths, a separate indoor pool house that's another thirteen thousand square feet, a detached ten-car garage, an eighteen stall barn and four ponds.

It is far more than one man needs, but if there's one thing the Mardraggons know how to do just as well as making money, that's spending it. The seven-and-a-half-million-dollar price tag is a bargain, considering the home comes fully furnished.

Jeanette Littleton walks down the porch steps wearing a bloodred skirt suit with black pegged heels. Her hair and makeup have been done to perfection, her long nails the color of her outfit. We exchange greetings and she coolly sweeps her hand toward the front door. "Shall I give you the tour?"

I nod and follow her inside, blown away by the opulence that wasn't quite translated by the pictures in the official listing.

The entry foyer is an architectural marvel with a grand staircase creating an elegant focal point as it curves gracefully upward. The glossy checkered marble floor reflects the natural light pouring through the floor-to-ceiling windows that offer an uninterrupted view of the estate's lush grounds.

Beyond the foyer is a luxurious living space, the grandeur amplified by towering columns and a striking mezzanine balcony under which sits a grand piano on a raised dais. Sumptuous armchairs and a sleek glass table suggest a blend of modern comfort with classic style, more suited to my personal tastes.

Jeanette leads me through the house, each room grander than the last. The master suite is a room unlike any I've ever seen and I've stayed at some of the finest hotels in the world and some of the most expensive homes of billionaire friends. Nothing compares to this lavish space. A four-poster bed anchors the room, surrounded by plump chairs you can sink down into and gleaming rich hardwood floors. Overhead, the ceiling features an intricate coffered design and skylights flood the space with natural light.

More floor-to-ceiling windows framed by crisp plantation shutters maintain the estate's southern vibe. The color palette is soft and natural with creamy whites, which are a welcome change to the dull gray of the Mardraggon estate. Every detail, from the ornate chandelier to the delicate floral arrangements, speaks to me on a softer level.

I'm taken on a golf cart tour of the acreage, over to the pool house and the barns but truly, I'd made my decision before we left the master suite.

At the conclusion of the tour, I tell Jeanette, "I'll take it."

"What would you like to counter at?" she asks, pulling out her iPad to make some notes. "And do you want any concessions?"

"I'll pay the asking price but I want to move in today. I'll gladly pay rent until we can close and I'll be paying cash."

The real estate agent blinks, stunned at the easy deal. "If that's the case, we can close fairly quickly."

"Make it happen," I instruct, and then I'm heading back to my Ferrari to drive into Frankfort where Mardraggon Enterprises are headquartered. Got more important business to attend to.