Chapter 6 - THE KNIFE AND THE FIRE
The chef stood perfectly still.
Julian. My son.
He had my eyes, but he had my father’s strong jawline. He was thirty-three, a grown man, standing in the middle of a warzone holding a chef’s knife with the casual grip of someone who knew exactly how to use it.
“Drop the knife, caterer,” the lawyer sneered, though his hand holding the 9mm pistol trembled slightly. He was a corporate attorney holding a gun, facing a man who looked entirely unbothered by the threat of death.
“I’m not a caterer,” Julian said calmly, his green eyes flicking from the lawyer to James, then to Daniel. “I’ve been tracking Elias Thorne for five years. When I found out Arthur Whitmore’s wife was throwing a party here, I forged credentials to get on the staff. I came here tonight to put a knife in Arthur’s throat. But the FBI beat me to it.”
He took a slow, deliberate step forward.
“Stay back!” the lawyer shouted, aiming the gun back at Rachel. “I’ll shoot her!”
Answer One: Julian was the third child. He hadn't been lost to the wind; he had spent years hunting the men who destroyed our family, using the pocket watch as his anchor to the past. Open Two: If Julian was hunting Thorne, who raised him? And how did he know Arthur Whitmore would be at this specific penthouse tonight?
I didn't think. I didn't plan. Twenty-seven years of suppressed motherhood exploded inside my chest.
I grabbed the heavy, marble-based champagne bucket off the counter and hurled it with all my strength.
The heavy bucket sailed through the air, crashing squarely into the lawyer’s shoulder just as he pulled the trigger.
Pfft!
The suppressed gunshot shattered the glass face of the grandfather clock behind me.
Before the lawyer could recover his aim, Julian lunged.
He moved with terrifying speed. He didn't use the knife to stab; he brought the heavy steel handle down brutally on the lawyer’s wrist. There was a sharp crack of breaking bone. The lawyer screamed, dropping the pistol onto the marble floor.
Julian kicked the gun away, grabbed the lawyer by the collar, and slammed him face-first into the wall. The lawyer slumped to the floor, unconscious.
The room was silent, save for the ragged breathing of the people left standing.
Julian dropped the knife. It clattered against the marble.
He turned slowly to look at me.
My hands were shaking. I took a step forward, the tears blinding me. “Julian.”
He swallowed hard, the tough, stoic exterior finally cracking. He looked at Rachel, then at Carolina, who was peeking out from behind Evelyn in stunned silence.
“Mom,” Julian whispered.
I closed the distance between us and threw my arms around his broad shoulders. He smelled like rosemary, garlic, and nervous sweat. He wrapped his arms around me, burying his face in my hair, pulling me tight against his chest. I felt a shudder wrack his massive frame.
“I found you,” he choked out. “I finally found you.”
Rachel rushed over, wrapping her arms around both of us. Three pieces of a broken puzzle, finally pressed together.
I pulled back, tracing the line of his jaw, touching the silver pocket watch wrapped around his wrist. “How? How did you survive?”
“Thorne didn't sell me to a wealthy European family,” Julian said bitterly, wiping a tear from his cheek. “I was premature. Sickly. No one wanted to pay top dollar for a damaged baby. So he sold me to a local enforcer in Queens. A low-level mobster who used me as a prop to look like a family man. He gave me the watch and told me he pulled it off a dead junkie who left me in a dumpster.”
My stomach churned with nausea. My beautiful boy, raised in violence.
“When my 'adoptive father' died in a shootout five years ago, I found his safe,” Julian explained, his voice hardening. “I found the original bill of sale. Signed by Elias Thorne. I’ve been hunting him ever since.”
He turned his attention to James and Daniel, who were still cowering near the island.
Reversal: Julian hadn't come to the penthouse for a reunion. He came for revenge.
Julian’s eyes went dark. He took a step toward James.
“You’re the men who walked away,” Julian snarled, his fists clenching. “You sold my sister. You abandoned me to a butcher.”
“Julian, please,” James begged, holding his hands up. “We were terrified! We thought you died in the hospital!”
“Liar!” Julian roared. He grabbed James by the lapels, lifting him completely off his feet. “You took the money and you ran! You let a mother grieve for twenty-seven years!”
“Julian, stop!” I yelled, grabbing his arm. “He’s not worth it. The FBI will take them. We have to call the police to come get this lawyer.”
But before I could dial, the penthouse lights flickered.
Then, they went completely black.
The emergency backup lights hummed to life, casting an eerie, dim red glow across the luxury apartment.
The heavy metal doors of the private elevator began to grind open. But it wasn't the smooth, electronic chime of the call button. Someone was manually overriding the system from the ground floor.
“The fire alarms are disabled,” Julian said, his voice instantly dropping to a tactical whisper. He released James, letting the older man crumple to the floor. “The security grid is down.”
“Who is it?” Rachel asked, backing up against the counter.
Julian grabbed the chef’s knife off the floor. “Elias Thorne. He must have known the FBI raid was coming. He’s tying up loose ends before he runs.”
Evelyn grabbed Carolina’s hand. “We have to get out of here. The service elevator!”
“It requires a key fob to operate manually in a blackout,” Carolina cried. “Arthur has the only one!”
“No, he doesn't,” I said.
I reached into the pocket of my gray cardigan. I pulled out a heavy, brass master key fob.
Carolina stared at it. “How do you have that?”
“Because I own the building, Carolina,” I said fiercely. “I didn't just buy the penthouse seven years ago. I bought the entire high-rise.”
The grinding of the private elevator gears grew louder. The car was almost at our floor.
“Go!” Julian yelled, pushing us toward the kitchen where the service elevator was hidden. “I’ll hold them off!”
“I am not leaving you again!” I screamed, grabbing his arm.
“Mom, go!” Julian pleaded. “Thorne will have armed men. Get my sisters out of here!”
The private elevator doors slammed open in the living room.
Heavy boots stepped onto the marble. Beams of tactical flashlights swept across the red-lit room.
May you like
And a cold, aristocratic voice echoed through the dark.
“Marina Bennett. It’s been a very long time since your last checkup.”
