Chapter 5 - THE BLACKWOOD ESTATE
The air inside Adrien’s private study was thick with tension. Evelyn sat by the fireplace, wrapped in a heavy wool blanket one of the housekeepers had draped over her shivering shoulders. Her wet clothes clung to her, but she didn't feel the cold. She only felt the burning, electric shock of the shipping manifest clutched in her hand. Alive. Lily was alive. Ten years old now. She had spent three years hidden away, treated as cargo, held by the monsters who operated in the shadows of Adrien’s empire. Adrien stood behind his massive mahogany desk, speaking rapidly into a secure telephone. His voice was a low, commanding baritone that left no room for hesitation. “I want forty men at the Blackwood perimeter in twenty minutes,” Adrien ordered. “No sirens. No headlights until you breach the gates. If a single vehicle leaves that property, I will hold you personally responsible. Am I clear?” He hung up the phone and looked at Evelyn. “Blackwood is a private estate fifty miles north of the city,” Adrien explained, walking around the desk. “It’s owned by Marcus Thorne. He’s a broker for the black market. Whitmore must have sold Lily to him yesterday when he realized you were getting too close at the restaurant.” “I have to go with you,” Evelyn said, standing up, the blanket falling from her shoulders. “Absolutely not,” Adrien said instantly. “It’s going to be a violent extraction. You are staying here where it is safe.” “She is my sister!” Evelyn pleaded, taking a step toward him. “She has been terrified for three years. If armed men burst into that house, she will hide. She won't trust anyone with a gun. She needs to see my face.” Adrien stared at her. He saw the exhaustion etched into her features, the dark circles under her eyes from working double shifts, the sheer desperation of a woman who had fought the entire world for three years. “If you come,” Adrien said quietly, “you stay exactly behind me. You do not move unless I tell you to move.” “I promise.” Before they could leave the study, the heavy oak doors creaked open. Sofia stood in the doorway. She was wearing a dry, oversized sweater, holding a small sketchbook against her chest. She looked up at her father, then at Evelyn. Adrien walked over and knelt beside his daughter. “Go back to bed, sweetheart,” Adrien whispered softly. “I have to go to work. I’ll be back before morning.” Sofia shook her head. She held out the sketchbook, pushing it toward Evelyn. Evelyn walked over and took it. On the page, drawn in unsteady crayon, was a picture of a large, dark house with tall iron gates. Above the house, Sofia had drawn a bright yellow star. But below the house, underground, she had drawn a heavy iron door with a padlock. “The cellar,” Evelyn breathed. Sofia reached out and pointed to the iron door in the drawing. Then, she opened her mouth. “Under,” Sofia whispered, her voice fragile and scratchy from years of disuse. “Hide under.” Adrien closed his eyes, overwhelmed by the sound of his daughter’s voice. He gently kissed her forehead. “Thank you, Sofia,” Adrien said. “We will find her.” Thirty minutes later, Evelyn was sitting in the passenger seat of a heavily armored SUV, speeding down the dark highway north of the city. Adrien drove in absolute silence, his jaw set in a rigid line of lethal determination. Three other black vehicles followed closely behind them, filled with Adrien’s most trusted enforcers. They turned off the main highway onto a secluded dirt road surrounded by dense, ancient pine trees. The rain had finally stopped, but a thick, heavy fog rolled across the ground, making the night feel even more claustrophobic. Up ahead, the massive iron gates of the Blackwood Estate loomed in the headlights. Adrien didn't slow down. “Brace yourself,” he ordered. Evelyn gripped the door handle. The reinforced steel bumper of the SUV slammed into the iron gates at sixty miles an hour. The gates buckled and exploded inward with a deafening screech of tearing metal. The SUV tore through the debris, fishtailing slightly before gripping the gravel driveway and roaring toward the sprawling, gothic mansion. Floodlights instantly snapped on around the property. Before the SUV even fully stopped, Adrien’s men poured out of the trailing vehicles, weapons drawn, moving with terrifying, practiced precision. Gunfire erupted from the front porch of the mansion. “Stay down!” Adrien shouted, pushing Evelyn’s head toward the dashboard as bullets pinged violently against the armored glass. Adrien drew his own weapon, kicked his door open, and returned fire. His men surged forward, overwhelming the guards on the porch in a matter of seconds. “Clear!” a voice shouted from the front doors. Adrien reached over and grabbed Evelyn’s arm. “With me. Stay behind my back.” Evelyn scrambled out of the car. Her legs shook, but the adrenaline burned through her fear. They moved into the grand foyer of the mansion. The air smelled of gunpowder and expensive cigars. Adrien’s men were already systematically clearing the rooms, shouting orders and securing the perimeter. “Where is Thorne?!” Adrien demanded, grabbing a wounded guard by the collar of his shirt. “I don't know!” the man spat, bleeding from his shoulder. Evelyn remembered Sofia’s drawing. Hide under. “The basement,” Evelyn said urgently, pointing to a heavy wooden door tucked beneath the grand staircase. “They’ll keep the cargo underground.” Adrien shoved the guard aside and moved to the door. He kicked it open. A steep, narrow flight of concrete stairs descended into the darkness. Adrien clicked on a heavy tactical flashlight attached to his weapon. “Stay close.” They descended into the cold, damp basement. It wasn't a wine cellar. It was a holding facility. Concrete walls, steel cages, and the sickening smell of bleach. At the far end of the room stood a heavy iron door with a massive padlock. Exactly like the one Sofia had drawn. Adrien raised his weapon and fired two point-blank shots into the padlock. The heavy metal shattered. He kicked the door open. Evelyn pushed past him, ignoring his order to stay back. The room inside was pitch black. “Lily?” Evelyn called out, her voice cracking with terror. “Lily, it’s Evie! I’m here!” Silence. Adrien swept the flashlight across the small, windowless room. There was a small cot in the corner. A plastic water bottle on the floor. But the room was completely empty. Evelyn’s heart stopped. Then, a harsh, mocking laugh echoed from the top of the concrete stairs behind them. Adrien spun around, leveling his weapon. Standing at the top of the stairs was Marcus Thorne. He was holding a detonator in his hand. “You’re too late, Belandi,” Thorne sneered. “Whitmore warned me you were coming. The girl was moved an hour ago.” Thorne pressed the button on the detonator. The heavy wooden door at the top of the stairs slammed shut, locking them inside, and a loud, electronic beep echoed through the basement. Beep. Beep. Beep. “Explosives,” Adrien realized, grabbing Evelyn’s arm.
