The early morning light filtered through the curtains of Frost's study as he leaned back in his chair, a glass of whiskey untouched on the table beside him. He had been up all night, poring over the details of the case, connecting dots that seemed to lead nowhere, chasing shadows that taunted him with their elusiveness.
The Black Hand was a ghostly organization, its reach vast and hidden, and Victoria Blackwood was the key. He had to believe that. The visit to her estate later that morning would be their last chance to get answers. Rookwood had vanished, and the trail was going cold. If Victoria didn't talk, they'd be left grasping at straws.
Blake entered the room, looking equally exhausted. His shirt was wrinkled, and the dark circles under his eyes were a testament to their relentless pursuit of the truth. He sat down opposite Frost, rubbing his temples as if trying to banish the fatigue that clung to him.
"You think she'll crack?" Blake asked, breaking the silence.
Frost didn't answer immediately. Instead, he took a slow breath, considering the question carefully. Victoria was a complicated woman—intelligent, calculating, and fiercely loyal to her brother. Getting her to betray him, even indirectly, would require more than just pressure. It would require understanding what made her tick, what she valued above all else.
"She will," Frost finally said, though the confidence in his voice was more for himself than for Blake. "We have enough leverage. She knows we're closing in on them. If we play our cards right, she'll cooperate."
Blake nodded, though he didn't look entirely convinced. "We better hope so. Otherwise, we're back to square one."
Frost stood up, shrugging on his coat. "Let's not waste any more time. The longer we wait, the more time they have to cover their tracks. It's now or never."
The carriage ride to Victoria's estate was a quiet one. Blake stared out the window, his thoughts clearly elsewhere, while Frost mentally prepared for the confrontation. Victoria was cunning—there was no doubt about that—but she also had weaknesses. Everyone did. And Frost was determined to find hers.
When they arrived, the gates of the Blackwood estate loomed tall and imposing, the iron bars glistening with the remnants of the night's rain. The mansion beyond was a testament to wealth and power, a stark contrast to the seedy underbelly of London that Frost had become all too familiar with.
A servant greeted them at the door, his expression cold and detached as he led them inside. The foyer was grand, with marble floors and high ceilings adorned with chandeliers that sparkled in the sunlight. It was a world away from the grime of the East End, a world that seemed untouchable by the chaos brewing outside its walls.
Victoria was waiting for them in the drawing room, seated elegantly on a velvet chaise. She looked every bit the aristocrat—poised, graceful, and utterly unreadable. Her dark hair was pinned up, and her dress was a deep burgundy that complemented the sharpness of her features. She was the picture of composure, but Frost could see the tension in her eyes, the subtle way her fingers gripped the armrest a little too tightly.
"Detective Frost," she greeted, her voice smooth and calm. "To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?"
Frost didn't bother with pleasantries. He stepped forward, meeting her gaze with his own steely resolve. "You know why we're here, Miss Blackwood. Your brother is involved in something far bigger than any of us anticipated, and we need answers. Now."
Victoria raised an eyebrow, her lips curling into a faint smile. "I see you're as direct as ever. But I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about. My brother is a businessman, nothing more."
Blake scoffed from behind Frost, unable to contain his frustration. "A businessman with ties to the Black Hand? Don't play coy with us, Miss Blackwood. We know about the machine, the sewers, all of it. You're not fooling anyone."
Victoria's smile didn't waver, but there was a flicker of something in her eyes—something that told Frost they were getting to her. "I assure you, gentlemen, I have no idea what you're insinuating. My brother may have questionable associations, but that doesn't mean I'm involved in his dealings."
Frost took a step closer, his voice lowering to a dangerous tone. "We're not here to debate semantics, Victoria. You're connected to this, whether you like it or not. The only question is how far you're willing to go to protect your brother. Because if you don't cooperate, the entire Blackwood name will go down with him."
For a moment, there was silence. Victoria's gaze never left Frost's, and he could see the wheels turning in her mind, weighing her options, calculating the risks. She was smart, but she was also cornered. And that gave Frost the advantage.
Finally, she sighed, a delicate sound that seemed to deflate the tension in the room, if only slightly. "Very well, Detective. I'll tell you what I know. But understand this—I'm not betraying my brother. I'm simply ensuring that my family survives whatever mess he's created."
Frost nodded, satisfied with the concession. "Fair enough. Start talking."
Victoria hesitated for a brief moment before speaking, her voice measured and careful. "The Black Hand is an old organization, much older than you realize. Its roots go back centuries, long before my brother or I were ever involved. They operate in the shadows, using influence, power, and fear to control everything from politics to industry. My brother—he was pulled into it because of his connections, his wealth. But he's not the one pulling the strings."
Frost's eyes narrowed. "Then who is?"
Victoria shook her head. "I don't know. That's the truth. The Black Hand operates in cells—compartments. Each one has its own leader, its own operations, and they rarely interact with each other. My brother is just one piece of a much larger puzzle. He handles certain...transactions, but he's not the mastermind."
Blake stepped forward, frowning. "And what about the machine? The sewers? What's all that about?"
Victoria glanced at him, her expression unreadable. "The machine is a weapon—a prototype, designed by one of the Black Hand's scientists. I don't know the specifics, but it's dangerous. My brother was tasked with overseeing its transport, ensuring it reached its destination without interference. As for the sewers...they're just a means of transportation. The Black Hand uses them to move contraband, people, whatever they need, without attracting attention."
Frost's mind raced as he processed the information. A weapon. A prototype. Whatever it was, it had been important enough for the Black Hand to risk everything to protect it. And now it was destroyed—or at least, the version they had encountered was.
"Where was it being sent?" Frost asked, his tone sharp.
Victoria hesitated again, but this time it was clear she was weighing the danger of revealing too much. Finally, she sighed. "It was supposed to be delivered to a contact in France. That's all I know. The details were kept from me."
Frost exchanged a glance with Blake, both of them realizing that the scope of the case had just expanded beyond London's borders. If the Black Hand had international connections, then stopping them would be even more difficult than they had anticipated.
"This contact in France," Frost pressed. "Who is it?"
Victoria shook her head again. "I don't know. I swear it. My brother handled the arrangements. I was only told enough to keep the operation running smoothly on this end."
Frost studied her for a long moment, trying to determine if she was telling the truth. There was fear in her eyes—fear for herself, for her brother, for the future of her family. But there was also a resignation, as if she knew that no matter what she did, the storm was coming, and there was no way to avoid it.
"Thank you," Frost finally said, stepping back. "That's all we need for now. But understand this—we're not done. If we find out you're hiding anything else, we'll be back."
Victoria gave a small nod, her composure slipping just enough to reveal the strain beneath. "I've told you everything I know, Detective. I just hope it's enough."
With that, Frost and Blake turned to leave, their minds already racing with the next steps in the investigation. They had new information, new leads, but the danger had only grown. The Black Hand was bigger than they had imagined, and the game they were playing was more dangerous than ever.
As they stepped out of the Blackwood estate and into the morning light, Frost couldn't shake the feeling that they were walking into a trap. The Black Hand was always one step ahead, always lurking in the shadows, waiting for the right moment to strike.
But no matter how deep the darkness, Frost wasn't afraid. He would keep pushing forward, keep fighting, until the Black Hand was brought down once and for all.
The game was still on—and Frost was determined to win.
To be continued…