Chapter 25 - The King in Chains
The lower deck of the *Leviathan* smelled of fine mahogany, expensive single-malt scotch, and the metallic tang of dried blood.
Ethan was strapped to a heavy steel interrogation chair bolted into the deck plating of the yacht's private hold. His shirt had been shredded, revealing deep bruises across his ribs and a jagged shrapnel cut along his collarbone. His hands were bound behind the chair with heavy industrial chains locked with a master padlock.
Across the room, behind a reinforced glass observation window, the open ocean whipped past in a blur of black water and white foam. They were moving at twenty knots, heading east-southeast into international waters.
The heavy steel door swung open.
Thomas walked in, carrying a crystal glass of amber liquid. Behind him walked two guards, but between them, there was no sign of Maria or Sophie.
Ethan’s eyes snapped to his brother’s face. “Where are they?”
Thomas took a slow sip of his scotch, savoring the burn before smacking his lips in satisfaction. “Relax, brother. Your little nanny is more slippery than I anticipated. When my men reached the sea cave, she had rigged an oxygen tank with a tripwire flare. It blew two of my men off the ledge. She and the brat escaped along the rocky shoreline on foot.”
Relief flooded Ethan’s veins like ice water, though he didn't allow a single muscle in his face to betray it.
“You won’t find them,” Ethan said coldly. “Maria was raised in the Sicilian interior. Her father was Don Falcone’s primary counter-intelligence runner before the syndicate fell. She knows how to disappear in the dark.”
Thomas paused, lowering his glass, an amused grin spreading across his face. “Oh, I know all about Maria Rossi. You thought she was just an innocent nanny with a forged resume and a soft spot for traumatized toddlers? Do you really believe in fairy tales, Ethan?”
Ethan’s eyes narrowed. “What are you talking about?”
Thomas pulled an encrypted tablet from his coat pocket and tossed it onto Ethan’s lap. The screen illuminated, displaying classified surveillance files dating back seven years.
There were photographs of Maria.
Not in a nanny’s uniform, but in tactical gear, standing outside a burning warehouse in Palermo. Another photograph showed her standing beside a sleek black sedan, shaking hands with an Italian federal magistrate.
“Maria Rossi wasn't sent to you by a luxury nanny agency, Ethan,” Thomas whispered, leaning down until his lips were inches from Ethan’s ear. “She was an embedded intelligence operative for the European anti-mafia task force. Her mission was to infiltrate the Hawthorne syndicate, gather evidence on your money laundering networks, and dismantle us from within.”
Ethan’s chest tightened, a cold weight pressing against his lungs.
“She abandoned her handlers the day Vanessa attacked Sophie,” Thomas continued, his voice dripping with venomous amusement. “She fell in love with your little girl. She went rogue, threw away her badge, and decided to play mommy instead. But you see, Ethan... her old bosses still want their pound of flesh. And I just sent them her exact coordinates on the Long Island coast.”
“You bastard,” Ethan snarled, thrashing against the chains until the iron links bit deep into his wrists, drawing fresh blood. “She saved Sophie’s life!”
“And now she will lead my strike team right to her,” Thomas said, straightening his cuffs. “In three hours, we rendezvous with the Ouroboros council in international waters. The syndicate assets will be auctioned off. Sophie will be brought aboard this ship as the legal beneficiary under my conservatorship. And you, Ethan...”
May you like
Thomas drew his gold-plated Desert Eagle, pulling the slide back with a crisp, terrifying click.
“...you will be fed to the Gulf Stream.”
