Chapter 21
The Dixon house was unusually silent that evening. Every corner of the vast house seemed frozen in terror. The servants looked at each other, wracked with a strange anxiety, for they all knew—whenever Salvatore Dixon heard bad news and returned home in that state, nothing but a storm would follow. His anger never walks through the door; it arrives in blasts.
A black car roared through the front gate. The screech of its tires was so intense that two guards froze in surprise. As soon as the door opened, hot smoke poured out, mingled with fury. Salvatore strode inside. His eyes, his face, his very gait—there was a fire in him that instantly made the house feel heavy.
The servants moved aside against the walls as he entered. No one said a word, no one dared to breathe, because th
