Chapter 8 - The Price of an Heir
Victor had always understood Donovan's greatest weakness.
It was not money.
It was not pride.
It was the belief that loyalty, once earned, could survive almost anything.
For fifteen years, Victor had stood beside him through family funerals, business wars, and the slow consolidation of the Hayes empire. He knew Donovan's habits, his weaknesses, and the names of everyone he had ever loved.
Most importantly, he knew how to make Donovan hesitate.
The photograph of Maeve was enough.
Donovan kept his expression controlled.
“You're making a mistake.”
Victor gave a quiet laugh.
“That's what you always say when someone finally disagrees with you.”
“Where is Adrian?”
“Safe, for now.”
“Where?”
“Bring me the original trust documents, and I'll tell you.”
Donovan glanced at Elena.
She was staring at Victor with a hatred so intense that it seemed to hollow her face.
“You told me my son was dead,” she whispered.
Victor barely looked at her.
“It was necessary.”
“You made me bury an empty coffin.”
“You should be thanking me. I gave you three years to remain alive.”
Elena lunged toward him.
One of the guards caught her.
Donovan stepped forward.
“Touch her again, and you won't leave this church.”
Victor smiled.
“There he is. The man who thinks violence is a language only he understands.”
He motioned to his men.
They dragged Elena toward the exit.
Donovan followed, but the second gunman pressed a weapon against his ribs.
“Not another step.”
Victor looked back.
“Tomorrow morning. Nine o'clock. The old waterfront terminal.”
“What happens if I don't come?”
Victor lifted Maeve's photograph.
“Then she loses the child.”
Donovan said nothing.
Victor's smile disappeared.
“You have until nine.”
Then he left.
Donovan waited until the cars disappeared before reaching for his phone.
“Julian, I need the waterfront terminal secured.”
Julian answered immediately.
“What's happened?”
“Victor has Elena. He's holding Adrian somewhere, and he's threatening Maeve.”
“Where is Maeve now?”
“Inside the townhouse.”
A pause.
“Sir, the townhouse is no longer secure.”
Donovan's chest tightened.
“What do you mean?”
“We found a second camera. Someone accessed the security system from inside the house.”
“When?”
“Within the last hour.”
Donovan turned toward the road.
“Get Maeve out.”
“We're already there.”
“Don't wait for me.”
He ended the call and ran toward his car.
The drive back felt endless.
Every red light became an insult. Every slow vehicle was a threat he couldn't touch.
When he finally reached the townhouse, Julian was standing in the doorway with a drawn expression.
“Where is she?”
“Upstairs.”
Donovan took the stairs two at a time.
Maeve was sitting at the kitchen table, wearing a borrowed cardigan and holding a cup of tea that had gone cold.
She rose when she saw him.
“What happened?”
He looked at her stomach.
“Are you all right?”
“Yes. Donovan, what's going on?”
He took her hands.
“Victor has Elena.”
Maeve went pale.
“And her child?”
“Victor has him, too.”
“Then we need to help them.”
“He wants me to trade the original family trust documents for the boy.”
“Will you?”
“Yes.”
The immediate answer surprised her.
“Even if it means losing your inheritance?”
“It's a piece of paper.”
“It's your family's fortune.”
“It's a piece of paper,” he repeated. “My nephew is a child.”
Maeve searched his face.
“What about me?”
Donovan's expression shifted.
“What about you?”
“If Victor knows where I am, he can come here again.”
“Yes.”
“Then stop treating me as though I'm something that needs to be hidden away.”
He exhaled.
“Maeve, please. I need you to understand how serious this is.”
“I understand perfectly. Someone is threatening my baby, your nephew is missing, and your sister has spent three years believing she had lost her child. I understand that we're all in danger.”
She stepped closer.
“But I'm not going to sit in a locked room while men make decisions about my life.”
Donovan's jaw tightened.
“I don't want you involved in the exchange.”
“Then I'll help you find another way.”
“You're pregnant.”
“And I'm still capable of thinking.”
He stared at her.
Then, slowly, he nodded.
“Tell me what you suggest.”
Maeve took a breath.
“Victor wants the original trust documents. That means he doesn't have them. If he had them, he wouldn't need you.”
Donovan glanced at Julian.
“She's right.”
“Find out where the originals are,” Maeve continued. “And find out why he needs them so urgently.”
Julian pulled out his phone.
“Sir, the trust has an emergency provision.”
Donovan turned.
“What provision?”
“If a direct heir is born or confirmed to be on the way, the trustees must be notified. Once notified, no transfer of controlling assets can occur without an independent review.”
Maeve looked at him.
“So my baby is already affecting the trust.”
“Yes,” Donovan said.
“And if Victor is trying to steal the company, he has a deadline.”
Julian nodded.
“The review begins in two weeks. He needs the transfer completed before then.”
Donovan's eyes narrowed.
“Then we don't give him the documents.”
Maeve shook her head.
“No. We make him believe he has them.”
Silence fell.
Donovan slowly turned toward her.
“What are you proposing?”
“A fake exchange.”
Julian's expression became thoughtful.
“If we create a duplicate set of documents and mark the originals beforehand, we can determine where Victor intends to take them.”
“And if he discovers the deception?” Donovan asked.
“Then we make sure he has something more important to worry about than the paperwork.”
Maeve looked at him.
“Like evidence that exposes him.”
Donovan's gaze remained fixed on hers.
For a moment, she saw the man who had found her in the café, the father who had frozen when he felt his child move beneath her hand.
Then she saw the mafia boss who had spent years learning how to turn an enemy's confidence into a trap.
He smiled faintly.
“I'm beginning to understand why you survived Derek for five years.”
Maeve raised an eyebrow.
“That's not the compliment you think it is.”
“Noted.”
Julian left to coordinate the plan.
Donovan remained beside the table.
“There's something else,” he said.
Maeve waited.
“If this goes wrong, Victor will come after you again.”
“Then we make sure it doesn't go wrong.”
“I can't promise that.”
“I know.”
He took her hand.
For the first time, he didn't try to hide how afraid he was.
“I spent fifteen years believing Victor was the one person I could trust without question.”
Maeve squeezed his fingers.
“Then don't make the same mistake twice.”
He looked at her, and something in his expression softened.
Outside, a black car passed slowly along the street.
Inside it, a man photographed the townhouse.
Then he sent a message to Victor.
THE WOMAN IS STILL THERE. THE HEIR IS UNDER HIS PROTECTION.
Victor read the message from a private office across the city.
He placed his phone facedown.
Then he opened a drawer and removed an old photograph.
It showed Donovan as a teenager, standing beside his father and a young boy whose face had been carefully scratched out.
May you like
Victor studied it for a long moment.
Then he whispered, “You were never supposed to inherit anything.”
