A grandson. A little boy. The Commission didn't just buy her loyalty; they extorted it through the most agonizing, horrific means possible. A profound wave of empathy and nausea rolls through my stomach. She didn't want me to die. She just wanted her grandchild to live.
On the screen, Thayer stops pacing. He stands directly in front of Maria, his massive frame completely eclipsing the harsh fluorescent light.
"Dante," Thayer murmurs, not taking his eyes off the weeping woman.
"We verified the kidnapping, Boss," Dante says from the corner, his voice grim. "The boy was taken by a Commission splinter cell operating out of the South Side. We are tracking the burner phone that sent the photo."
Maria looks up at Thayer, a desperate, wild hope illuminating her tear-streaked face. "Please, Thayer. You can save him. You have the men. Please, bring my boy back, and I will acceptwhatever punishment you deem fit. I will die for you, just save him."
I hold my breath. My hands grip the edge of the console so tightly my knuckles ache. The man I married—the man who bathed me with terrifying reverence, the man who held me through a night terror—is looking at a desperate grandmother. Surely, he understands. Surely, there is a limit to the monster.
Thayer stares down at her. His face is a mask of cold, impenetrable marble. The pale, glacial gray of his eyes is completely devoid of mercy, warmth, or humanity.
"Leo's life," Thayer says, his voice a low, soulless whisper that makes the hair on my arms stand straight up, "is not my concern."
Maria freezes. The hope dies instantly, completely extinguishing from her eyes.
"You brought a threat to my wife," Thayer continues, stepping closer, invading her space until she flinches backward. "You prioritized your blood over mine. In this Syndicate, the penalty for treason is absolute, regardless of the motive."
"No," Maria chokes out, frantically shaking her head, the zip-ties biting brutally into her wrists. "No, Thayer, please, he is just a child!"
"And she is my world," Thayer growls, the sudden, violent escalation in his volume making me jump in my chair. The absolute, unhinged obsession in his voice is terrifying. It is a raw, feral possessiveness that defies all logic and morality. "You put a target on her back. You compromised her safety. I do not care if they burn your entire bloodline to ashes, Maria. You do not touch what is mine."
Thayer turns his back on her. He looks at Dante.
"Execute her," Thayer commands flatly. "And dump her body on the steps of the Commission's front operation. Let them know the Thorne Syndicate does not negotiate with leverage."
"Yes, Boss," Dante replies, stepping away from the wall, pulling a suppressed handgun from the holster at his waist.
"No! Please! Thayer! THAYER!" Maria’s screams turn into a frantic, blood-curdling shriek of absolute terror.
I slam my hand onto the keyboard, blindly hitting the mute button, completely severing the audio.
I shove the chair backward, scrambling to my feet. I stumble away from the console, my hands covering my ears, my chest heaving with violent, jagged gasps of air. The bunker spins. The darkness presses in on me from all sides.
He didn't save her. He ordered her execution. He condemned a woman and a child to death, all because she had inadvertently threatenedme.
I stagger to the bathroom, falling to my knees in front of the toilet just in time to empty the meager contents of my stomach. My body violently rejects the horror of what I just witnessed. I dry-heave until my throat is entirely raw, tears streaming down my face, dripping off my chin onto the cold tile floor.
I am married to the devil.
A man who will burn the entire world to the ground, sacrifice innocent children, and execute loyal servants, just to ensure that the cage he built for me remains completely impenetrable.
I push myself away from the toilet, collapsing against the cold marble wall. I pull my knees to my chest, burying my face in myarms. I should hate him. I should be terrified of him. I should be searching this bunker for a weapon to use against him the second he walks back through that door.
But the cognitive dissonance—the psychological warfare of my trauma—is a poison completely infecting my brain.
My father sold me to save himself. My father left me to die.
Thayer just proved that he values my life above everything else on this miserable, bloody earth. He is a monster, but he is a monster entirely devoted to my survival. And in the dark, shattered ruins of my soul, that terrifying devotion feels dangerously close to a twisted, sick kind of love.
I sit on the cold floor for an hour. The silence in the bunker is heavy, expectant, winding my nervous system tighter and tighter until I feel like a plucked guitar string ready to violently snap.
Then, I hear it.
The heavy, mechanical hum of the biometric scanner engaging.
I lift my head. My heart instantly accelerates, beating a bruised, frantic rhythm against my sternum.
