Chapter 7 - The Father's Shadow
Silas dropped his brother to the floor like a piece of garbage. Julian lay there, weeping and clutching his shattered jaw. The confirmation of Clara's final death—that she had survived a horrific crash only to die alone in a hidden facility—tore through Silas's soul, leaving nothing but a hollow, violent void.
"Dante," Silas commanded, not looking away from his brother's pathetic form. "Take him to the basement. Bolt him to the chair. He doesn't get water, he doesn't get sleep, and if he passes out, you wake him up with battery cables."
"With pleasure, Boss," Dante growled, hauling the whimpering Julian out of the study.
Silas walked over to his desk and picked up the secure phone line. There was one more Thorne left to deal with. His father, Marcus Thorne, currently serving a life sentence at a maximum-security federal penitentiary in New York. If Julian was telling the truth, Marcus had orchestrated the hit from behind bars.
Silas dialed his federal contact, a warden deeply entrenched in the syndicate’s payroll. "Warden. I need a private visitation with Marcus Thorne. Midnight tonight. No cameras. No guards."
"Silas, it's highly irregular..." the warden stammered.
"Do it, or I will leak the photos of you in Atlantic City to your wife and the press simultaneously," Silas said coldly.
The line went silent. "Midnight. Solitary confinement wing, block C," the warden conceded.
Before leaving the manor, Silas went down to the panic room. Mrs. Gable was rocking Elara to sleep. Silas stepped into the room, his hardened features softening the moment he looked at his daughter. He gently brushed a knuckle against her soft cheek.
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"I have to go away for a few hours, little bird," Silas whispered, making a promise to the infant. "When I come back, the monsters who hurt your mother will never be able to reach you."
He kissed her forehead, then turned on his heel, walking out into the night to confront the devil who gave him his name.
