CHAPTER 31 #2
"You think a child makes me weak?" I roar, addressing the room.
No one moves. No one breathes.
"A child gives me a future," I snarl. "And I will burn every single one of you to ash to ensure that future is secure. Do you understand?"
"Yes," Chen says immediately. "We understand."
"Loud and clear, Boss," Diego says, pale.
I pull O’Malley’s head up. His face is a ruin. Blood pours from his nose and mouth. His hand is nailed to the table.
"Get him out of here," I order. "He loses his territory. Divide it between the Triad and the Kings."
"Silas..." O’Malley weeps.
"And O’Malley?" I lean down. "If you ever mention my child again... I will feed you your own tongue."
Two guards drag him out, screaming.
I take a handkerchief from my pocket. I wipe a speck of blood from my hand.
I look at the remaining men.
"Anyone else have an opinion on my parenting skills?"
Silence. Absolute, terrified silence.
"Good," I say. "Meeting adjourned."
I retreat to my office.
I lock the door.
My hands are shaking. Not from the violence—that was easy. That was reflex.
They are shaking from the realization.
The leak.
O’Malley knew about the baby. He knew about the medical equipment.
It wasn't a guess. Someone told him.
I sit behind my desk. I pull up the security logs for the penthouse.
Dr. Aris? No. I have blackmail on him that would put him in prison for life. The nurses? Maybe. James?
No.
I look at the roster of the cleaning staff. The catering staff.
There are too many people. Too many eyes.
I built a fortress, but I filled it with strangers because I wanted Ivy to be comfortable. I wanted her to have luxury.
Luxury is a vulnerability.
I grab my phone. I call Luca.
"Yeah, Boss?"
"Fire everyone," I say.
"What?"
"The staff at the penthouse. The maids. The chef. The dog walker we don't even use. Fire them all."
"Boss, who’s going to clean? Who’s going to cook?"
"I don't care," I snap. "I want the apartment empty. Just the medical team. And put a jammer on their phones. No signals in or out of the guest wing."
"You’re locking it down tight."
"O’Malley knew," I say. "Someone talked."
"Shit. Okay. I’ll clear them out within the hour."
"And Luca?"
"Yeah?"
"Find out who O’Malley was talking to. He didn't come up with that 'soft' speech on his own. Someone put a battery in his back."
"You think there's a bigger fish?"
"There's always a bigger fish."
I hang up.
I pull up the live feed of the penthouse on my monitor.
Ivy is in the library. She is curled up in a leather chair, a book open on her lap. She isn't reading. She is staring out the window at the gray sky.
She looks small. Sad.
She hates me right now. I know she does. She hates the restrictions. She hates the apples. She hates the cage.
But she is safe.
I zoom in on her face.
I touch the screen.
"I will be the villain," I whisper to the pixels. "I will be the tyrant. I will be whatever I have to be to keep that heart beating."
My computer chimes. A secure email.
I frown. It’s encrypted. The sender is anonymous.
I open it.
There is no text. Just an attachment.
An audio file.
I click play.
The sound of static fills the office. Then, voices.
"He’s losing it," a voice says. It sounds like O’Malley, but younger. Clearer.
"The girl is the anchor," another voice replies. I don't recognize this one. It’s smooth. Educated. "She makes him heavy."
"So we cut the anchor?"
"No," the smooth voice says. "We don't want to kill her. That would make him a martyr. We want to break him. We want him to doubt his own mind."
"How?"
"Paranoia," the voice purrs. "Silas Vane has always been crazy. We just need to give him a push. Make him think the threat is everywhere. Make him tighten his grip until he crushes the thing he loves."
The audio cuts out.
I sit there, frozen.
Make him tighten his grip until he crushes the thing he loves.
It’s a psychological operation. Someone is gaslighting me. Someone fed O’Malley that line to provoke me. To make me react exactly the way I just did.
To make me fire the staff. To make me isolate Ivy. To make me the monster she fears.
They want me to destroy my own marriage. They want me to turn my home into a prison so unbearable that Ivy breaks.
Who?
Who knows me that well? Who knows my psychology?
I replay the voice. Smooth. Educated.
It sounds familiar. Like a ghost from a past life.
I open a new browser window. I search the archives of Vane Enterprises. The old board members. My father’s associates.
I find a video clip from an old shareholder meeting, ten years ago. My father is speaking. Beside him stands a man in a gray suit. His lawyer. Arthur Pendelton.
I play the clip.
"The future of this company relies on stability," Pendelton says.
The voice.
It’s the same voice.
Arthur Pendelton. My father’s consigliere. The man who executed my father’s will. The man I fired the day I took over.
He disappeared. I thought he retired to the Hamptons to die of liver failure.
Apparently, he has been waiting.
He knows my father beat me. He knows about the scar. He knows that my greatest fear is becoming my father.
And he is using it against me.
He wants me to become the abuser. He wants me to become the man who hits his wife and terrifies his children. Because if I become my father... I am no longer Silas Vane. I am just a broken cycle repeating itself.
I slam my fist onto the desk. The glass cracks.
"Nice try, old man," I snarl.
I won't let him win. I won't let him turn me into that monster.
But... the threat is real. O’Malley did know. The leak is real.
I am trapped in a paradox. If I loosen my grip, they might kill her. If I tighten my grip, I play right into their hands and destroy her soul.
I look at the screen. Ivy is still staring out the window.
I have to tell her.
No. I can't tell her. If I tell her there is a psychological war being waged, she’ll be terrified. Stress is bad for the baby.
I have to handle this alone.
I have to walk the line between protector and jailer without falling off.
I stand up.
I need to go home. I need to see her.
I leave the office, stepping over the splinters of the mahogany table where I broke O’Malley’s face.
The war isn't over. It just changed battlefields.
Now, the battlefield is my own mind.