CHAPTER 30 : The Butcher

Silas Vencetti. The Butcher.

The name hung in the air of the silent penthouse. Marcus looked at me, waiting for an order. He was used to taking orders from Julian, not me.

"Does Julian know about Silas?" I asked.

"He knows he exists," Marcus said. "But he thinks Silas is still rotting in a Siberian prison. If he knew he was out... and here..."

"He would try to hunt him down," I finished. "Stitches or no stitches."

"Exactly."

I looked out the floor-to-ceiling windows at the city below. The lights glittered like diamonds, hiding the rot underneath.

"We need intel," I said. "We need to know what Silas is planning before he strikes."

"I have guys working the streets," Marcus said.

"Your guys are known Thorne associates," I said. "No one will talk to them. They are terrified of Silas."

I turned to him.

"I need to talk to someone outside the organization."

Marcus frowned. "Who?"

"There was a name in my mother's journal," I lied. I hadn't read her journal in years, but Marcus didn't know that. "Someone she used to trust for information. An old woman named Martha. She runs a pawn shop in Queens."

It was a desperate gamble. Martha was real, a fence my mother sometimes used for stolen goods back in the bad old days. I prayed she was still alive and still hated the Vencettis.

"It's too dangerous, Mrs. Thorne," Marcus said immediately. "I cannot let you leave the Tower."

"I'm not asking for permission, Marcus. I'm telling you the plan. You can either help me sneak out, or I can try to climb down the drainpipe."

Marcus stared at me. He was weighing his loyalty to Julian against the immediate threat of me doing something stupid.

"Ten minutes," he said finally. "I'll disable the service elevator cameras. Wear a hoodie. Don't bring your phone; it's tracked."

An hour later, I was standing in front of a grimy pawn shop in Queens. The windows were barred. A neon sign buzzed, promising "CASH 4 GOLD."

I pulled the hood of Julian’s oversized sweatshirt lower over my face. I pushed open the door. A bell jingled.

The shop smelled of dust and desperation. Behind a thick Plexiglas counter sat a woman who looked like she was carved from dried apple. She was smoking a cigarette, ash spilling onto a stained newspaper.

She looked up. Her eyes were sharp, like black beads.

"We closed," she rasped.

"I'm not looking to sell, Martha." I lowered my hood.

She squinted. Then her eyes widened slightly.

"Well, well," she wheezed, a coughing laugh rattling her chest. "Eleanor's girl. I heard you got married up in the world. To the Devil himself."

"I need information," I said, stepping up to the glass.

"Information costs," Martha said, tapping the ash from her cigarette.

I reached into my pocket and pulled out a wad of cash. Five thousand dollars. I slid it under the slot.

Martha didn't even count it. She swept it into a drawer.

"What do you want to know, little bird?"

"Silas Vencetti."

The shop went silent. The buzzing of the neon sign seemed louder.

Martha crushed her cigarette out in an overflowing ashtray. She leaned forward.

"You shouldn't say that name out loud," she hissed. "Not even here."

"He sent dead roses to my husband," I said. "He wants a war. I need to know what I'm up against."

"You're up against a ghost," Martha said. "Luca was a punk. A hothead. Silas? He's cold. He doesn't just kill people, girl. He takes them apart."

She shivered, despite the heat in the shop.

"Why did he come back now?" I asked. "Why not ten years ago?"

"He was locked up," Martha said. "But word on the street is... someone paid his bribe. Someone very rich wanted him out of Russia and back in New York."

My stomach twisted. "Who?"

"Don't know," Martha said. "But whoever it is, they want the Thornes dead. And they hired the perfect tool for the job."

She leaned closer to the glass.

"Listen to me, Eleanor's girl. Go back to your tower. Lock the doors. Don't let your man out of your sight. Silas isn't going to attack head-on. He likes to play with his food."

A chill ran down my spine.

"What does that mean?"

"It means he won't just kill Julian," Martha whispered. "He'll make him watch while he destroys everything Julian loves first."

Her black eyes locked onto mine.

"Starting with you."