Chapter 28
SILAS
T he night came like a blade, sharp and cold, slicing through the haze of Charleston’s heat. I stood in my room at Dominion Hall, my weapon on the table, the red ribbon still in my pocket, a weight I couldn’t shake.
Portia was asleep in my bed, her curls spilling across the pillow, her breathing steady after the ambush at The Palmetto Rose, after Monte’s blood on the flagstone, after I’d told her I loved her and she’d said we were on the same page. After the hours and days she’d put into the weddings.
My chest ached, her fire the only thing keeping me grounded, but the phone in my hand buzzed, and I knew it was time.
“Silas,” my mother’s voice—Caroline Dane—came through, low and urgent. “It’s time.”
I glanced at Portia, her silhouette soft in the dim light, and my jaw tightened. “I’m bringing her.”
A pause, heavy with disapproval. “Portia? No, Silas. That’s a mistake.”
“I promised her,” I said, my voice firm. “She’s in this now. Monte died for her. She wants to face the bad man at the top of the totem pole, and I’m not breaking my word.”
Caroline’s sigh was sharp, edged with frustration. “Operational security, Silas. You know how this works. Bringing a civilian into this is reckless.”
“I love her,” I said, the words raw, unyielding. “She’s not just a civilian. She’s with me.”
“That’s exactly why she needs to stay out,” Caroline snapped, her voice cold. “Love makes you vulnerable, makes you stupid. This mess that’s coming—it’s not a place for promises.”
I clenched my fist, my voice low, steady. “I promised, Mom. I keep my promises.”
Another pause, longer this time, and when she spoke, her voice was softer, tinged with something bitter. “I wish your father had done the same.”
The line went dead, her words a kick to my chest. I stared at the phone, my mind spinning.
My father, Byron Dane, who’d left Department 77 to protect us, who’d never spoken of her after she vanished. What promises had he broken? What secrets had they buried?
The ribbon burned in my pocket, and I pushed the questions down, my focus snapping back to Portia. I had to get her, had to move, had to face whatever storm my mother was leading us into.
I crossed to the bed, my hand gentle on Portia’s shoulder.
“Wake up,” I said, my voice low. “It’s time.”
Her eyes fluttered open, dark and sharp, already alert.
“Now?”
I nodded, my jaw tight.
“My mom called. We’re meeting her.”
Portia sat up, her curls wild, her face resolute.
“I’m ready.”
I raised an eyebrow as she slid from the bed and crossed to a duffel bag near the wall—one I hadn’t noticed until now. She unzipped it with practiced ease and pulled out an outfit: black leggings, a fitted long-sleeve shirt, black boots, and a black cap just the right size to tuck her hair under.
“My operational outfit,” she said, half-teasing, half-serious, her eyes glinting with defiance.
A folded note fluttered to the floor from the unzipped pocket. She handed it to me.
You’re going to need these. Raise some hell. –Claire
I stared at it, brow furrowing. I had no idea when she’d snuck this into my suite. Typical Claire—ghosting in and out like a shadow with a mission.
I snorted, shaking my head, my own jeans and black t-shirt feeling plain by comparison.
“You look like you’re auditioning for a heist movie.”
Portia smirked, pulling on the leggings, her curves a distraction I didn’t need.
“Let me play along, Silas. I’m not here for the important stuff, anyway, right?”
I didn’t answer, my gut twisting. She wasn’t wrong—I’d planned to keep her on the sidelines, safe from the blood and bullets, but her fire made it hard to argue.
“Fine,” I said, my voice rough. “But you do what I say.”
We drove to the same condo I’d visited before, half a mile from Dominion Hall, its beige exterior blending into the night. Portia sat beside me, her black-on-black outfit absurdly serious, her hands steady but her eyes sharp, scanning the dark.
I hadn’t told my brothers about Caroline, about her plan to kill our grandfather, 77’s Number 1. It was stupid, I knew it now, keeping them in the dark, but fuck it—I was in too deep, my promise to Portia and my trust in my mother driving me forward.
Caroline opened the door before I knocked, her graying hair pulled back, her gaze flicking from me to Portia.
“You brought her,” she said, her voice flat, her disapproval clear.
Portia stepped forward, her chin high, her voice cool.
“I’m here for Monte … and for Silas.”
Caroline’s eyes narrowed, assessing, but she stepped aside, letting us in. The living room was the same—sparse, tasteful, no trace of her life beyond the lilies on the coffee table.
Portia didn’t sit, her posture rigid, her eyes locked on my mother like she was vetting a suspect.
“Why should we trust you?” she asked, her voice sharp. “You left your sons, ran 77, let it hurt people. Why are you doing this now?”
Caroline’s face didn’t flinch, but her eyes softened, a flicker of understanding.
“I stayed to protect them. I failed, in many ways, but I’m here to end it. To stop my father, to burn Department 77 down.”
Portia’s jaw tightened. “For them? Or for you?”
Caroline’s gaze held hers, steady, unyielding.
“You’ll understand when you have your own children,” my mother said.
Her eyes flicked to me, a silent weight, and Portia’s shoulders eased, her fire dimming, like she saw something in my mother she recognized.
“Enough,” I said, my voice low, breaking the tension. “What’s the plan?”
Caroline turned, all business now, her voice crisp. “My father’s at Blackthorn Hollow, a small estate outside Charleston. He’s not alone—his inner circle, maybe half a dozen operatives, all loyal, all armed. It’s a fortress.”
I leaned forward, my hands on my knees.
“How do we get in?”
Caroline’s eyes met mine, calculating.
“We use you as bait. A staged kidnapping, my people doing their job. They’ll bring you to him, saying it was my operation. I’ll be inside, waiting to strike.”
I nodded, my jaw tight, the plan risky but solid. I hadn’t told my brothers—Marcus, Elias, Noah, the others—and the guilt gnawed at me. They’d have my back, bring firepower, but I’d kept this personal, too personal, and now it was too late.
“Stupid,” I muttered under my breath, but fuck it, I was in it now.
She stood, her eyes blazing. “Four men, outside in a rental car. My people, not your grandfather’s. They’ll act like they’ve kidnapped you, Silas, and get you in.”
Portia cut in, “I’m coming, too.”
My mother’s face hardened, her voice cold. “Impossible. Stupid. Irresponsible. You’re a civilian, Portia. You’ll get yourself killed.”
Portia didn’t flinch, her voice rising. “I’m coming. Monte died for me. I’m not sitting this out.”
I stepped between them, my hands up, my voice low. “Portia, listen. This isn’t a game. You stay back, stay safe.”
She turned on me, her eyes fierce. “I’m not safe, Silas. Not since I met you. I’m in this, all the way.”
Caroline’s eyes flicked to me, her jaw tight, but I saw her relent, her voice flat. “She can stay in the rental, wait for us. But if things go south, she’s up shit’s creek.”
Portia’s chin lifted, her voice resolute. “I’m coming.”
I wasn’t happy, my gut churning, but what could I do? Her fire, her resolve, burned through my doubt, and I nodded, my voice rough. “Fine. But you stay in the car.” I turned to my mother. “Will she be safe in the car?”
My mother nodded.
Caroline wasn’t happy either, her eyes cold, but she didn’t argue. She led us downstairs, where four black-clad men waited in a rental car out back. Their faces were hard, ready. Caroline had terse words with them, her voice low, sharp, laying out the plan.
I watched Portia, her black outfit still silly but her posture steady, her hand brushing mine, a silent promise.
We loaded into the rental, Caroline in front, me and Portia in the back, the men silent, their gear clinking softly.
The engine roared to life, and we pulled out, speeding through Charleston’s dark streets, toward Blackthorn Hollow, toward destiny.
This was one of the stupidest things I’d ever done , I thought, my pistol heavy at my hip, the ribbon burning in my pocket. Caroline’s plan—her men posing as kidnappers—was reckless, a gamble that could get us all killed. We were trusting her people to play their parts.
I should’ve called my brothers, brought their firepower, their trust, but I’d chosen this path, my mother’s war, Portia’s fire, and now I was in it, no turning back.
My chest tightened, doubt clawing at me, but then Portia’s hand found mine, her fingers squeezing, her eyes meeting mine in the dark.
She gave me a brave nod, her fear clear but her resolve clearer, and I knew I was in the right place.
Had to be. Her love, her strength, was my anchor, and I’d fight through hell to keep her safe, to end this war, to make Monte’s death mean something.
The rental sped on, the city lights fading, the road narrowing as we approached Blackthorn Hollow.
I thought of my mother’s words— I wish your father had done the same —and the secrets she still held.
I thought of Portia’s fire, her demand to face Monte’s killer, her love that burned through my shadows.
I thought of my brothers, asleep at Dominion Hall, unaware of the storm I’d walked into.
The ribbon in my pocket was a promise of blood, of endings, and as we raced toward our fate, I squeezed Portia’s hand back, my heart steady, my war clear.
This was it, the moment I’d been forged for, and I’d face it with her, no matter the cost.