Atticus tilted his head. “Is that…a metal dog?”
“Looks more like a bear, no?” Nico guessed, leaning in.
“A cat, maybe?” Adam speculated.
Aiden fixed each of them with a flat stare. “It’s a bull.”
“I mean, it’s a cow at best,” Avi taunted. Aiden glowered at him, but it was lost on Avi. “Why’d you make a giant metal cow sculpture?”
Thomas fought the smile threatening his lips. It was clear they were just giving Aiden a hard time. That would never change, regardless of his status or position in the family. It verymuch looked like a bull, or maybe he was just biased. Aiden had spent months perfecting it, and it was finally ready. Its horns gleamed dull gold, and the slatted vents along its ribs reminded Thomas of the grill of an old Cadillac. It was beautiful, terrifying, frightful engineering. Aiden’s specialty.
“It’s a bull,” August confirmed, his tone leaving no room for argument as he prowled closer to run a hand along the side. “A bronze bull.”
It was clear by the lack of reaction that only two people outside of himself and Aiden knew what that meant. Thomas’s stomach curled with satisfaction when realization hit August and Mal, both of them lighting up like they’d just seen the ark of the covenant.
“What is that?” Nico whispered, sounding both curious and horrified.
Thomas didn’t answer. He let the silence stretch. He wanted the horror to bloom naturally…to feel earned.
Mal’s eyes were shining with a dark malice Thomas rarely saw outside his own children. “The Bronze Bull, also called the Brazen Bull. It was an ancient torture and execution device invented in Greece around 500 BCE by a man named Perillos of Athens. He made it for Phalaris, the tyrant of Acragas in Sicily. It was a hollow bronze statue shaped like a bull, big enough to fit a person inside. When a fire was lit underneath, the metal would heat until it literally roasted the victim alive.”
A murmur of appreciation rippled through the room, the kind reserved for good craftsmanship, or a particularly beautiful murder. The gleam in Mal’s eye said this was fascinating.
“Your brain is entirely wasted as a dance teacher,” August said, almost as an aside.
“So it’s an oven?” Lucas asked, face pulled back in a grimace.
“Jesus Christ,” Noah whispered.
“Sick,” Adam said gleefully, then winced when Noah elbowed him right in the ribs.
“That’s not even on my bucket list. Can’t believe I didn’t think to add it,” Avi said, chest rising and falling rapidly.
“You’re going to…cookmy mother?” Zane asked faintly, looking a little green in the gills.
“Essentially,” Thomas said. His voice came out level, but inside he felt that same cool hum he always did when justice was about to be served.
“That’s not even the most fucked-up part,” Mal added.
August nodded. “He’s right. The really twisted part is that it was designed with an acoustic system—pipes and vents—that made the victim’s screams sound like a bull’s bellowing. Perillos thought that was genius and showed it off to Phalaris…who was apparently so horrified—or impressed—that he tested it on Perillos himself. Then, depending on which version you read, Phalaris either pulled him out before he died or left him there to burn.”
“Sounds like poetic justice,” Cree murmured.
August smiled. “Eventually, Phalaris was overthrown and executed in the same bull.”
“So yeah, karma has range,” Mal agreed.
People laughed softly; it wasn’t joy, not really, it was that strange laughter that happened when people weren’t sure how to react. The sound bounced off the metal walls, brittle and unnerving, the echo almost musical. Zane seemed to flinch at the noise, like feedback from a speaker too close to the mic.
The bull itself gleamed dully under the overhead light. Its curved haunches caught the glow, skin polished to a mirror finish that reflected back distorted versions of everyone in the room, twisted halos of gold and shadow. Heat still hadn’t touched it, but the promise of it seemed to pulse in the air.
Bev licked her split lip and tried for contrite, her breaths coming out through her nose in heavy pants, much like the bull before her. “Zane, sweetheart…this is…dramatic. We can fix this. I’ll get help. I’ll call a lawyer. I didn’t mean?—”
“Stop. Talking. To. Him,” Thomas said, letting as much menace as possible leech into his tone. He stepped forward, his signet ring glinting. The light caught on the family crest, a subtle reminder of where true power lived. “Talk to me.”
She blinked, recalculating, the oldest trick in her arsenal. Thomas almost admired the reflex, it was pure predator instinct, even when cornered. “Thomas, we can settle?—”
“There’s no deal left to make,” Thomas said mildly, and somehow that was worse than shouting. “You had money. You had a way out. You burned it down and came back for more. I’ve warned you again and again that you’re not wanted here, yet you couldn’t resist the chance to keep tormenting your own son.” He looked to Zane, then back to Bev. “So he’s my son now. You were given a gift that you never appreciated, but we do. Now you can leave him to me…to us.”
