Chapter 4 - The Convoy in the Dark
Within three minutes, my tactical support team arrived at the rear alley of Maple Row. Four reinforced black SUVs pulled up, their doors swinging open simultaneously as six heavily armed Thorne operatives took perimeter positions around the house.
Viktor personally stepped through the rear door, carrying a tactical ballistic vest and an assault rifle.
"Area is secure for the moment, Boss," Viktor reported, his eyes sweeping the small kitchen before resting respectfully on Rachel and Leo. "Moretti’s secondary team was intercepted at the boulevard bridge by our forward unit. But Moretti himself has crossed into the district with at least twenty men."
"We move now," I commanded. "Take us to the safehouse at Blackwood Ridge."
Blackwood Ridge was a fortified lodge located thirty miles north of the city in the dense pine forests—a location known only to myself and Viktor, completely omitted from the general Thorne trust databases so my mother could not track it.
I turned to Rachel. "Bring only what you need for a few days. We have to move fast."
Rachel didn't argue. She grabbed a small canvas backpack, stuffed a few changes of clothes for Leo inside, and pulled a warm, faded coat over her shoulders. She wrapped Leo in a heavy blanket, lifting him into her arms.
"I can walk, Mom," Leo protested quietly, though he buried his face into her neck, overwhelmed by the sudden appearance of tactical guards with rifles.
"I'm carrying you, sweetie," she whispered, her voice tight as she held him close.
We walked out to the middle SUV. I opened the door, holding my arm over Rachel’s head to shield her from the driving rain as she slid into the leather interior with Leo. I climbed in right after them, slamming the heavy armored door shut.
The convoy accelerated into the dark, rain-slicked streets, moving at high speeds toward the northern highway.
Inside the quiet vehicle, the atmosphere was thick with unspoken decades. Leo sat between us, clutching his mother's hand, his eyes wide as he looked at the high-tech comms monitors built into the back of the front seats.
"Where are we going?" Leo asked softly, looking up at me.
"To a safe place in the mountains, Leo," I replied, keeping my voice as gentle as possible. "A place where you can sleep without hearing the rain or the cars."
"Is Caleb there?" he asked innocent.
My heart constricted. "No. Caleb is at home with his nanny right now, but he will be joining us tomorrow. He... he missed you at school after you left."
Leo looked down at his bare feet, which were tucked beneath the warm blanket. "I liked his shoes. They were soft."
Rachel tightened her grip on Leo's hand, her eyes flashing toward me with a painful mix of grief and pride. "We don't need charity, Leo. I told you that."
"It wasn't charity, Rachel," I said softly, looking across the seat at her. "Caleb saw a friend in need and gave him what he had. He acted like a brother... even if he didn't know it yet."
Rachel turned her face toward the rain-streaked window, refusing to let me see the fresh tears filling her eyes. "Don't do that, Victor. Don't speak about brotherhood and family as if you can just plug us into your world. You have a son, a life, an empire. Leo and I are a secret you forgot ten years ago."
"I never forgot you!" I said, my voice rising with a desperate, burning passion that made Viktor glance briefly into the rearview mirror. "Every single night for ten years, Rachel! Every time I closed my eyes after a meeting, after a fight, after building another piece of this bloody syndicate, I thought of you! I thought you were living in Paris or Rome, happy, moving on with someone who could give you a normal life! I thought I was the one who had been discarded!"
Rachel turned back to face me, her lips trembling. "She brought me a picture, Victor."
I froze. "What?"
"Your mother," Rachel whispered, her voice breaking. "Two weeks after I found out I was pregnant. She came to my tiny apartment. She brought a photograph of you standing outside a hotel in Miami with another woman—a woman from a rich family in Chicago. She told me you were already engaged to her. She told me I was just a distraction, a dirty secret from the street, and that if I tried to trap you with a baby, she would make sure neither I nor the baby ever saw the light of day."
I felt as though the oxygen had been completely sucked out of the vehicle. My mother had staged a photograph from a business trip I took to Florida, using a rival’s daughter to manufacture a fake betrayal.
"It was a lie," I rasped, my vision going red with a terrifying rage. "I was never engaged to anyone in Miami. I went there to secure a shipping line. The woman in that photo was an associate's sister who sat at my table for twenty minutes!"
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Rachel stared at me, the horror of ten years of deception finally washing over her in its entirety. She realized that every tear she had shed, every night she had skipped meals so Leo could eat, every cold winter she had suffered in that drafty house... had been based on a ghost story written by Eleanor Thorne.
Before she could speak, a sudden, violent impact rocked the rear of our SUV.
