Chapter 5 - The Web of Betrayal
Dawn broke over Manhattan not with sunlight, but with a bruised, sickly violet haze filtered through low storm clouds.
I didn't go back to the penthouse. I left Dante to coordinate the tactical teams and took two armored cars straight to the Thorne Estate in Greenwich, Connecticut.
Evelyn Thorne lived behind ten-foot wrought-iron gates in a sprawling stone manor that smelled of old money, cut hydrangeas, and venom. She was sitting in her glass conservatory, sipping English breakfast tea from bone china, when my men breached the front doors and swept through the grand hallway.
The private guards she had hired barely had time to reach for their holsters before Dante’s men had them disarmed, zip-tied, and pinned to the limestone floor.
I kicked open the conservatory glass doors, the morning chill flooding into the humid, perfumed air.
Evelyn didn't spill a drop of tea. She carefully set her cup down on the silver saucer, adjusted the pearl necklace at her throat, and looked up at me with cold, aristocratic disdain.
“Devin,” she said smoothly, as if I had merely dropped by for Sunday brunch. “You always were a violent, uncivilized brute. Breaking into my home like a common thug. I suppose you think that little criminal empire of yours makes you untouchable.”
I walked to the table, reached out, and swept every piece of antique porcelain off the table with a violent crash. Teapots, saucers, and silver shattered across the tile floor.
Evelyn flinched, her mask slipping for a fraction of a second.
“Where is Maya, Evelyn?” I leaned down, planting my hands on the glass tabletop, my face inches from hers. “And where is my wife?”
The silence that followed was heavy enough to suffocate.
Evelyn’s pale green eyes—the same shade as Priya’s, but hollow and devoid of warmth—narrowed. “Priya has been dead for five years, you fool. You buried her.”
“I buried an empty box containing an unidentified corpse,” I growled, reaching across the table and seizing the front of her designer silk blouse, dragging her forward until her face was inches from mine. “I have Clara Simmons. I have the medical logs from St. Jude’s. And an hour ago, I had my team run DNA matches on two five-year-old boys I found starving beside a dumpster on Tenth Avenue.”
At the mention of the boys, Evelyn’s composure finally fractured. Her eyes widened, a flicker of genuine shock flashing across her face.
“The boys...” she whispered, her voice faltering. “They’re... Maya gave them to you?”
“She didn't give them to me. She was running for her life from Marcus Vance’s cleaners,” I snarled, tightening my grip until the silk tore. “You sold your own daughter, Evelyn. You sold your own grandchildren to a butcher for corporate shares and trust funds. Tell me why I shouldn't feed you to the wolves right now.”
“You know nothing!” Evelyn hissed, suddenly clawing at my wrists with manicured nails. “You think you’re a king, Devin, but you’re just a street dog in a tailored suit! Marcus Vance was going to destroy the Thorne name! Our pharmaceutical holdings were three hundred million dollars in debt! Priya was selfish! She created a patent worth billions and refused to monetize it! She would have let our family rot in bankruptcy for her ridiculous 'morals'!”
“So you killed her?”
“I didn't kill her!” Evelyn spat, her voice rising into a shrill, hysterical pitch. “Marcus promised she would be cared for! He said she would be kept in a private medical suite! He only needed her stem cells, her plasma, her research notes! And the twins... Marcus needed infants with her genetic markers to culture the synthetic antibodies! He said they wouldn't be harmed!”
“They were kept in cages, you monster!” I roared, throwing her back into her chair with enough force that the wicker cracked. “They have tracking chips embedded in their flesh! They’ve been starved, beaten, and bled for five years!”
Evelyn slumped in the chair, breathing heavily, clutching her bruised chest. “I didn't know... Marcus told me they were at an elite boarding academy in Switzerland. He showed me pictures every Christmas...”
“Maya knew,” I said coldly.
“Maya found out last month,” Evelyn sobbed, her aristocratic veneer completely shattered into pathetic, trembling ruins. “She broke into the Blackwood facility. She saw what Marcus was doing. She took the boys and ran. She called me... she called me screaming, saying she was going to expose everything. I told Marcus to stop her. I thought... I thought he would just bring them back!”
My phone vibrated in my pocket. I pulled it out, keeping my eyes fixed on the pathetic woman before me.
“Devin,” Dante’s voice came through the speaker, crisp and urgent. “We got her. Maya Thorne is in our Queens safe house. She’s wounded, but she’s alive. And Boss... you need to get here right now. She has something you need to see.”
I lowered the phone and looked down at Evelyn Thorne. She looked up at me from the wreckage of her tea set, trembling like an animal waiting for the slaughter.
“Dante,” I said into the receiver. “Call the Federal District Attorney. Give him Clara Simmons’s deposition, the offshore bank accounts, and the falsified birth certificates. Have them freeze every asset tied to the Thorne estate. Leave her with nothing. Not a dollar. Not a coat. Not a roof over her head.”
“No!” Evelyn shrieked, scrambling to her knees and grabbing my pant leg. “Devin, please! I’m Priya’s mother! You can't leave me on the street!”
I looked down at her with nothing but ice in my veins.
May you like
“You left my five-year-old sons barefoot on wet cardboard, Evelyn,” I said, kicking her hand away with cold precision. “Being on the street is a luxury you don't deserve.”
***
