Chapter 4 - The Mark of the Serpent
The safehouse was a fortress of cedar and reinforced concrete, perched on a cliff overlooking the churning Atlantic. Inside, the fire crackled in the stone hearth, casting long, dancing shadows across the room.
Adrian stood by the table, examining the first-aid kit. Across from him, Evelyn sat on the edge of a leather armchair, her bare arm resting on a white towel. The sleeve of her uniform had been cut away entirely.
Adrian leaned down, dabbing antiseptic around the edges of the branded flesh. The skin was slightly inflamed; she had evidently been trying to scrub the mark away with coarse brushes and lye soap during her captivity.
“It hurts less when it’s cold,” she murmured, staring down at her lap.
“He did this himself?” Adrian asked, his voice low and controlled.
“In a cellar in Boston. Two years ago,” she said softly. “He said that cattle must bear the rancher’s seal so that if they wander into another pasture, the neighbors know whose property to return.”
Adrian’s jaw clenched so hard a muscle twitched violently in his cheek. He took a magnifying glass and a high-intensity penlight from his medical kit, leaning in close to the scar tissue.
As he illuminated the brand, his breath caught.
Within the intricate coils of the serpent, almost invisible to the naked eye, were three tiny letters etched in micro-scars: *O.P.S.*
“The Obsidian Syndicate,” Adrian whispered.
Rocco, standing by the door with a shotgun resting in the crook of his arm, stiffened. “Boss? The phantom cartel moving heroin out of Montreal?”
“It was never an independent cartel,” Adrian realized, the puzzle pieces clicking together with terrifying clarity. “It was Julian all along. Five years ago, when our father died and the Commission named me Don instead of him... Julian didn’t accept it. He didn’t fight me because he knew the Capos favored me. So he faked his own execution.”
“Why fake it?” Evelyn asked, her voice trembling. “Why not just shoot you then?”
“Because he didn’t just want the Moretti throne, Evie. He wanted to destroy everything Father built. He wanted me to inherit the war, bleed the family dry defending our borders, and then, when we were weak and exhausted, step out of the shadows to claim the ashes.”
Adrian stood up, walking toward the grand window that looked out over the black, roaring sea.
“Julian let me bury an empty box filled with unidentified pig bone and dental fragments bought off a corrupt medical examiner. And then he took the one thing he knew would gut me from the inside out: you.”
“Adrian,” Evelyn said, standing up on unsteady legs. The oversized cashmere sweater Adrian had given her hung loosely from her thin frame. “You don’t understand the scale of what he’s built. Vance isn’t just his ally; Vance is his banker. Julian controls ports from Halifax to Baltimore. He has politicians in his pocket. And he has men inside Chicago.”
Adrian turned around, his face expressionless. “Inside the Outfit?”
“Yes,” Evelyn said, her eyes wide with urgency. “I overheard them talking in the study at Newport. Julian has a mole in your inner council. Someone who tells him every move you make. That’s how he knew you were coming to Rhode Island tonight. That’s how he set this up.”
A heavy chill settled over the room. Rocco gripped his weapon tighter, his eyes darting toward the hallway.
Adrian didn’t flinch. He walked back to Evelyn, reached out, and gently tucked a strand of her unevenly cut hair behind her ear.
May you like
“Then we have work to do,” Adrian said softly. “Rocco, prep the private jet. We’re returning to Chicago tonight. If my brother wants a war with the dead, I will personally show him how hell operates.”
***
