He smirks. “Fine. But Looney Tunes here shuts the fuckup.”
Carson makes a big show of zipping his mouth shut and throwing away the key before we all head down the secret passage. At the end, the hallway turns a sharp ninety degrees. Then it goes down two small flights of stairs, broken up with a landing with a locked door that leads to…well, I honestly don’t even know.
I bought this house when I took over from my predecessor, Étienne Veyrac. It’s a little…isolated, being a four-hour drive or an hour by helicopter from midtown Manhattan, tucked up here in the Adirondack mountains of upstate New York. I still have aplace in the city, of course, but I also like it up here, and I fell in love with the place the second I laid eyes on it.
I like how it's removed from everything. I also like that it’s riddled with secret passages, hidden doorways, and rooms. There's whole sections of the house that don’t exist on the official blueprints.
The “torture chamber”, obviously, wasn’t originally built by the Carnegie family as anactual torture chamber. It was a kitchen of some kind with rooms attached to it, almost a whole apartment hidden under the east wing. I discovered the spot in the first few weeks of living here. But there are plenty of other secrets in this house I haven’t had time to explore yet, like the door we just passed.
Neither of the older men tied to chairs in the middle of the former kitchen is whimpering or begging when I walk in. They just regard me unemotionally, even though they’ve spent the last twelve hours down here getting beaten and tortured, and probably pissing their pants.
“Mr. Stone. Mr. Beaumont. I’m so glad you could finally make the trip to visit me in my new home.”
The two men still don’t say a word, and keep their heads held high.
I respect that. I'd respect it even more if these two weren’t part of an old-guard faction within the Syndicate that’s plotting a coup against me.
“I hope you’ve been enjoying your stay.” I smile thinly, eying them both.
Jameson Beaumont, arrogant loudmouth that he is, finally speaks.
“Now listen here, Vaughn?—”
He grunts, his head whipping sideways when Sebastian, who’s been leaning against the wall, walks over and backhands him across the mouth. Blood sprays from his split lip, and he curses.
“Let’s try this again,” I murmur. “How has your stay been so far?”
“Mr. Bancroft,” Gordon Stone says, looking tired, his voice rough, but his shoulders still straight. “If I may speak?”
“Be my guest.”
He dips his chin. “I know there are Veyrac loyalists still in our ranks trying to undermine your efforts to lead our organization. But with all due respect?—”
“Due respect,” Carson mutters, “would meannotplotting against dear Marcus here. By which, of course, I meanthe Marquis.”
Jesus fucking Christ.
I glare at Carson, who grins sheepishly and shrugs his shoulders. Then I turn back to Gordon. “Keep going.”
“There’s a coup brewing against you, make no mistake,” he growls. “But I swear on my life that I have nothing to do with it.” His brow knits. “If I may?”
I nod. “Go right ahead.”
He clears his throat. “I’m sure you’re aware that I was part of the voting council that removed your grandfather from the Synd?—”
“I never knew my grandfather,” I growl quietly. “He died before I was born. And none of this is rooted in vengeance, I can promise you.”
He nods slowly.
“Well,” I jerk my chin at the other man. “What about your little friend here.”
Gordon’s eyes narrow. “Beaumont isn’t any friend of mine. That’s no secret.”
I smile calmly. “Regardless, is he involved?”
Jameson’s head snaps around and he glares death at Gordon. “You throw me under the bus, and I’ll fucking?—”
“I don’t know,” Gordon says evenly, shaking his head. “I really don’t. All I can say is,I’mnot involved. I swear that on my life and on the Syndicate.”
