Chapter 4 - THE SHADOW BROTHER
Lena spun around on her knees, the wooden box clutched desperately to her chest like a shield.
Standing just inside the closed bedroom door was a man.
He was dressed in a battered black leather jacket, dark jeans, and heavy combat boots. His face was a mirror image of Adrian Blackwood’s—the same sharp cheekbones, the same straight aristocratic nose, the same dark hair swept back from a high forehead. But where Adrian was pristine, calculated, and polished to a lethal sheen, this man was hollowed out by grief, covered in stubble, and possessed eyes that burned with a feverish, feral light.
Across his left cheek ran a jagged white scar that Adrian did not possess.
"I told you he would come for it," the man said. His voice was the exact whisper from outside her door the previous night.
Lena pressed her back against the side of the bed, her voice a strangled squeak. "Who... who are you?"
The man didn't move. He kept his hands visible, palms open, though a heavy automatic pistol was holstered snugly beneath his left armpit. "My name is Julian. I am Adrian’s twin brother. The brother the world was told drowned in the lake when our father’s yacht exploded fourteen years ago."
Lena’s eyes darted frantically between Julian and the birth certificate resting on top of the wooden box. "You... you're Marco Blackwood’s son?"
"We both are," Julian said, taking two slow, deliberate steps into the room. He didn't look at Lena with malice; his eyes were full of an aching, desperate sorrow. "Marco Blackwood was a monster. He ruled the Chicago underworld with an iron fist, and he took whatever he wanted. Including your mother, Julianna."
A cold sweat broke out across Lena's forehead. Her world was fracturing at the seams, decades of foster home memories, of believing she was an unwanted orphan, collapsing into dust. "My mother was a maid?"
"Julianna was the governess for Adrian and me when we were boys," Julian explained softly, stopping five paces away and crouching down so he was on her eye level. "Our mother died giving birth to us. Julianna raised us. She was the only person in that cursed house who showed us what love looked like. And when our father laid hands on her, when you were born... Julianna tried to run."
"The cellar," Lena whispered, the memory of the photograph flashing through her mind. "The photo from October 14, 2008. The woman holding the little girl. That was... that was my eighth birthday."
"And the night our father murdered her," Julian said, his voice dropping into a register of sheer poison. "Adrian and I were twenty. We heard the screaming in the cellar. We ran down. Marco had a gun to her head. Julianna had discovered Marco's offshore ledgers—the proof that he was selling off the syndicate's assets to fund human trafficking rings. She threatened to go to the federal prosecutors to save you from being pulled into his world."
Julian reached out, his finger lightly tapping the bloody locket inside the open box.
"Marco pulled the trigger before we could stop him. Her blood splattered across that locket. Adrian went blind with rage. He tackled our father. In the struggle, the gun went off again. Marco died on that concrete floor, drowning in his own blood."
Lena felt the room spinning. Nausea surged in her throat. "Then... why did you scratch my face out of the photograph?"
Julian looked up, his scarred face twisting with bitter regret. "I didn't scratch it out, Helena. He did."
"Adrian?"
"Adrian couldn't bear to look at what we failed to protect. Our father’s loyal capos were already banging on the mansion gates. If the syndicate found out that Marco had an illegitimate daughter—an heir with a legitimate claim to his personal estate—they would have slaughtered you in your crib. Adrian made a deal with Mrs. Collins and the old family loyalists. He faked my death to throw off federal surveillance, sent me into the shadows to run the underground enforcement, and smuggled you into the state foster system under an alias."
"He abandoned me!" Lena cried, tears finally spilling over her lashes, hot and angry. "I spent sixteen years moving from group home to group home, hungry, freezing, wondering why my mother never came back for me!"
"He didn't abandon you to be cruel, Helena! He abandoned you so the syndicate wouldn't execute you!" Julian snapped, before catching himself and lowering his voice. "For fourteen years, Adrian built an empire of blood just to ensure that no one would ever be strong enough to touch this family again. But power changes a man. Adrian didn't bring you here three weeks ago to give you your inheritance."
Lena froze, her tears turning cold on her cheeks. "What do you mean?"
"The Syndicate's High Council has discovered that Marco had a daughter," Julian whispered, his eyes wide with genuine panic. "They know about the trust fund Marco established before his death—a fund worth four hundred million dollars that can only be unlocked by the biometric DNA of his direct female descendant. Adrian’s business empire is collapsing under federal RICO indictments. He needs that money to buy his way out of the country."
"He... he brought me here to use me?"
"He brought you here because the trust requires you to sign over power of attorney willingly—or die, in which case the money defaults to the surviving male heir," Julian said, reaching into his jacket and pulling out a small black flash drive. "Everything is on here. The bank accounts. The surveillance logs. The transfer orders Adrian drafted two days ago."
Suddenly, the handle of the bedroom door rattled violently.
A heavy key turned in the lock from the outside.
Julian’s head snapped toward the door. "He's here."
"Julian, please—"
Julian grabbed Lena by the arm, hauling her to her feet with shocking strength, and shoved her toward the walk-in closet behind the bed. "Get in there! There’s an emergency laundry chute in the back wall. It drops into the basement coal cellar. Take the box! Don't let him get the tape!"
Before Lena could argue, the bedroom door flew open with an explosive crash, splintering against the doorframe.
Adrian Blackwood strode into the room, a matte-black SIG Sauer drawn and raised. His eyes were wild, completely devoid of the aristocratic composure he wore like a mask. Behind him, two hulking bodyguards in dark suits blocked the hallway, their hands resting on submachine guns.
Adrian’s gaze swept over the room, landing first on the open floorboard, then on Lena, and finally locking onto his scarred brother.
"Julian," Adrian said, his voice flat, dead, and lethal. "I told you that if you ever stepped foot in this house again, I wouldn't hesitate to bury you for real."
Julian drew his pistol with blinding speed, leveling it squarely at Adrian's forehead. "You're not touching her, brother. The game is over. She knows."
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Adrian’s eyes flicked to Lena, who was trembling beside the bed, clutching the wooden box against her chest. When his gaze met hers, something raw and agonizing flickered behind his cold mask.
"Lena," Adrian said softly, lowering his weapon just an inch. "Step away from him. He isn't who you think he is."
