Chapter 8 - The Twisted Roots
I stared at my mother, the air completely leaving my lungs as her words echoed in the quiet room.
"Ewan?" I choked out, my mind completely rejecting the horrifying concept.
"Ewan loved you, Ma."
My mother closed her eyes, tears leaking into the deep wrinkles of her pale face.
"He loved power more," she whispered, struggling to pull enough breath into her recovering lungs.
"He found out I was going to pass the syndicate leadership to you instead of him."
"He orchestrated the fire to disappear, letting you do the dirty work of building the empire."
"He poisoned me so I could never tell you the truth, waiting for the perfect moment to return and take the throne."
Delia staggered backward, her hands covering her mouth as a broken sob escaped her throat.
The man she had married, the man she had wept for over six years, was a monster beyond comprehension.
"No," Delia cried, shaking her head violently.
"He wouldn't do that to his own family."
Before I could comfort her, the heavy oak doors of the bedroom swung open slowly.
Celeste walked into the room, her high heels clicking loudly against the hardwood floor.
She was not flanked by guards, nor was she holding a weapon.
She simply stood in the doorway, clapping her hands in a slow, mocking rhythm.
"Bravo, Julian," Celeste said, her perfect smile twisting into a cruel grimace.
"You managed to figure out the puzzle just a few hours too late."
I raised my gun, aiming it directly at her flawless face.
"Where is my brother, Celeste?"
"He isn't in a cage, is he?"
Celeste laughed, a cold, hollow sound that filled the massive room.
"Of course he isn't in a cage, you idiot."
"He has been living in my family's penthouse in New York for the last five years, drinking vintage wine and laughing at you."
She stepped aside, gesturing toward the dark hallway behind her.
Two of Celeste's massive mercenaries walked into the room, dragging a man between them.
The man was dressed in a tailored suit, completely unharmed, and looking healthier than he had in a decade.
It was Ewan.
He looked at our mother in the bed, then looked at Delia, before finally meeting my eyes.
He didn't look guilty, and he certainly didn't look like a prisoner.
Ewan smiled broadly, straightening his expensive silk tie as the guards released his arms.
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"Hello, little brother," Ewan said smoothly.
"I see you finally woke the old woman up."
