Chapter 3 - The Uncle Who Was Supposed to Be Dead
Gabriel Mercer had the same eyes as Callum.
The same cold confidence.
But where Callum's expression was controlled, Gabriel's was cruel.
He pointed the gun at my mother.
“Leave the safe.”
Callum stepped between them.
“Let her go.”
Gabriel smiled.
“She knows too much.”
“She stays.”
“You always were sentimental.”
“I learned from our father.”
Gabriel's face hardened.
“Don't mention him.”
I stared.
There was history here deeper than anything I understood.
My mother whispered:
“You killed him.”
Gabriel looked at her.
“I gave him a choice.”
“You murdered him.”
“He chose badly.”
Callum's fist tightened.
I had never seen rage like that.
But he didn't attack.
Because Gabriel had positioned himself near a hidden switch.
One press could trigger another explosion.
Gabriel smiled.
“You know what your problem is, Callum?”
“What?”
“You think fear makes people loyal.”
“It doesn't.”
“What does?”
Callum's eyes moved toward me.
“Choice.”
Gabriel laughed.
“Then choose.”
He threw a folder onto the floor.
Inside were documents.
One had my grandmother's signature.
Another had my father's.
The final one carried Callum's father's.
I picked it up.
The agreement transferred ownership of the waterfront property to a trust.
Beneficiaries:
Marin Whitlock.
Callum Mercer.
I stared.
“What?”
Callum read it.
His expression changed.
“Your grandmother tied our families together.”
Gabriel laughed.
“Not tied.”
“Bound.”
He revealed the reason.
Decades earlier, the Whitlocks and Mercers had created a shared foundation.
The bakery building was the legal entrance to a property network stretching through Brooklyn.
The documents in the safe could expose politicians, police officials, and criminal organizations.
Whoever controlled the papers could take over the entire waterfront.
Gabriel wanted them.
Callum's father had refused.
So Gabriel had arranged his death.
My father helped uncover the evidence.
Gabriel killed him too.
My mother had been threatened.
My grandmother hid the safe.
Then she passed ownership to us.
“You have no idea what you're holding,” Gabriel said.
I looked at him.
“Then why have you waited this long?”
“Because I needed the original heir.”
He pointed at me.
“Your family hid you.”
Callum moved.
He attacked.
Gunfire exploded.
My mother screamed.
I ducked behind the safe.
Callum and Gabriel fought.
Gabriel escaped through a tunnel.
Callum ran after him.
I shouted:
“Callum!”
He stopped.
“Don't!”
He turned.
My mother was injured.
A cut along her arm.
He returned immediately.
“You okay?”
She nodded.
“I'm fine.”
Callum helped her.
I stared at him.
“You went back for her.”
“Of course.”
“Why?”
“She matters to you.”
That answer stayed with me.
Later, in his mansion, Callum cleaned the wound on my mother's arm himself.
He knew how to apply bandages.
How to check for shock.
How to make tea.
The feared mafia boss of Brooklyn had never looked less like one.
My mother noticed.
“He's different with you.”
I wanted to disappear.
Callum looked at her.
“She's important.”
My face heated.
“Don't.”
“What?”
“You're making things weird.”
He almost smiled.
“I wasn't.”
My mother laughed.
Then she looked at me.
“I like him.”
“Mom.”
“I've been waiting for you to like someone who doesn't deserve you.”
Callum looked at me.
I avoided his eyes.
The next morning, he returned to the bakery.
The fire department had finished their inspection.
Most of the structure had survived.
My bakery was damaged but salvageable.
Callum stood in the doorway.
“We rebuild.”
I looked at him.
“You're very confident.”
“I have money.”
“That isn't enough.”
“No.”
He looked around.
“People are.”
I didn't know what to say.
He walked toward the old counter.
Then he picked up a loaf of half-burned sourdough.
He smiled.
“Still don't let customers touch the bread?”
I rolled my eyes.
“You learned.”
“I did.”
He set it down.
“Marin.”
“Yes?”
“I need you to trust me.”
“I don't.”
He nodded.
“That's okay.”
“You're not angry?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because you're the first person in years who doesn't trust me because of my name.”
He stepped closer.
“You judge me by what I do.”
My heart beat faster.
“I haven't decided what I think.”
“I know.”
May you like
He left.
And somehow, his leaving bothered me more than his presence.
