Synarchy Book 2: The Ascension Page 8

  I have learned that your blood testing shows despite my rendezvous with Marilyn Pearl–Terenzio, I was unsuccessful in impregnating her. This would lead us to conclude that unless Marilyn was a whore, and I don’t believe she was, Marcello must be Kayla’s father. Considering our plans for our subject, I find her true heritage almost poetic. Regardless, I want you to proceed as planned. I never really thought of her as my daughter anyway, just a means to an end.

  Keep me updated on your progress.

  Regards,

  Deucalion

  “Ghost Team, come in.” Joey’s voice came in through their two way radios. “Subject has left the restaurant. They’re on their way to you.”

  The answering response from the Senior SVT Agent was a distant buzz compared to the sudden roar in Marcello’s head. Kayla was his daughter. For moments, Marcello couldn’t get his breath.

  Kayla’s appearance on his and Mari’s doorstep had put such a strain on their marriage. He had been distant and moody for the first few months, and when with his family, he had worn the veil that he had never shown his wife. Mari had always been able to look at him and really see him; not so, those first few months with Kayla. He’d worn it because he was a man, not a saint, and Kayla had been a constant reminder of an enemy, even one that had been killed, despite the fact that she was his wife’s daughter. She hadn’t been his daughter.

  Slowly, he’d begun to get around that. His wife had demanded it in her own firm but gentle way, and she had a habit of bringing out the best in him. So, he’d stopped ignoring and gotten to know Kayla. There was still a child underneath all that programming, and Marcello had come to care about Kayla more than he would admit.

  After all that, to now find out that Kayla really was his, theirs, Marcello felt the world give out beneath him for the second time in his life. He tunneled the fingers of one hand back through his hair and continued flipping through her file. Kayla didn’t just have her mother’s fiery spirit, but a Terenzios, too. According to Mengele’s notes, she had been resistant to her programming. Hence, it had taken fourteen instead of twelve years for her to appear. A single tear slipped down Marcello’s cheek as his rage overwhelmed him. They had taken his daughter and programmed her against him. They had committed unspeakable acts against her for fourteen years, things no child should ever have to endure. Marcello saw red. He felt like he was going to snap, slip into the darker side of his nature and never come out. Terenzios played the game so effectively because they walked that proverbial line between good and evil. They could dance over to either side at any point of their choosing. Sometimes, the darkness called louder than the light, and it was important for a Terenzio to have someone in their lives to pull them back. Aunt Lil had had Kyle for example. He used to have Mari.

  “Sir, he’s home,” one of the Senior SVT Agents said.

  Marcello snapped his gaze up. Right now, he didn’t care if he ever saw the light again. Leaving the file open on the desk, he came out of the office. His Agents were positioned in the kitchen, on either side of the garage door, where the doctor and his wife would come into the house.

  “Stop being silly, dear. Mrs. Kesiers just had a bad week, that’s all.” They were speaking in German. Mengele’s wife walked in first. The Agent on the other side of the door grabbed her by the arm and slapped his hand over her mouth, muffling her scream.

  “I don’t care. She’s snotty, and condescending and—” Mengele stepped though the doorway, then immediately halted. His eyes widened when they came to rest on Marcello, and he whispered in a strongly accented voice: “You… How did you….?”

  Marcello’s answer was to ram his knuckles into the older man’s jaw. He grabbed Mengele by the front of his shirt and dragged him over to the stove. “Your cologne is interesting.” Marcello’s tone was dangerously quiet. “Now, I understand why Kayla called you the man with the funny smell.”

  Mengele’s eyes widened in shock at that revelation, but quickly narrowed with indignation. Blood stained the corner of his mouth. “What do you want?” he demanded.

  Marcello turned the electric burner to high. He put his hand against the back of the doctor’s head and bent him over, holding Mengele’s face mere inches away from the heat. Mrs. Mengele began to cry. “Is Kayla my daughter? Is it true?”

  At first, Mengele said nothing, but once the heat began blistering his skin, he shouted: “Yes! Yes! She’s yours!”

  The rage that coursed through Marcello made his body tremble. He leaned close and whispered in Mengele’s ear: “You want to know what I want? I want you to scream.”

  §

  July 4, 1974 - 4:11 PM

  Washington, D.C.

  Home of the Vice President of the U.S.

  Fury rode every step Julian Terenzio took. His nephew, Dominiceo—Dom Jr., one of Liliana’s twin children—followed alongside of him. Two Secret Service agents escorted them into the office of the Vice President of the United States.

  “What have you done?” Julian demanded without preamble. The door clicked shut behind them. Dom Jr. stood behind his uncle. His eyes were as sharp and angry as Julian’s tone.

  Three men sat in the room. Two had full heads of white hair. The other had a dramatically receding hairline. They all shared aristocratic features. They were bluebloods. Men who could trace their ancestry back centuries to the Pharaohs of Egypt and the kings of Greece. Well, two of them could. The third wore his humanity as a disguise. If one was looking an Anunnaki could be identified by the cold, piercing depth of their black eyes; the kind found on the Vice President of the United States, who stood from his arm chair and focused those eyes on Julian.

  “Those are harsh words coming from a slave,” the Vice President said.

  Julian snapped his gaze to the Anunnaki. He didn’t back down. Instead, he stepped forward. The tip of his brother’s walking cane struck the wooden floor. “It wasn’t a statement. It was a question, and a fair one. What have you done to my nephew? I cannot fulfill my end of our arrangement if you’re sidestepping me.”

  The Vice President turned from Julian and looked at the two men sitting behind him. The man with the receding hairline was the president of the RAND Corporation, the Illuminati’s eastern hemisphere think tank. The other man was a member of the British royal family. He currently gave orders to the Black Nobility, the European Union’s small, personal army and collection of assassins. “Would you excuse us, please?” The men nodded, setting their glasses down, and left.

  Only the secret service agents, who were Grey aliens in disguise, remained. They stood motionless by the door. The Vice President looked back at Julian. “We haven’t done anything to Marcello. Yet.”

  Julian frowned. “It’s a simple fucking question. Answer it.”

  The Vice President smiled. What it lacked in warmth it made up for with its mocking edge. He reached up and straightened Julian’s tie. “I don’t think you’ve been so loyal all these years. And I don’t think your brother was, either.”

  “Excuse me?” Julian batted the alien’s hand from him. “Who killed Kennedy for you? Me. Who was running the LSD and providing the hookers the CIA needed to conduct operation Midnight Climax? Us." Midnight Climax had been a CIA program to test the effects of LSD. Prostitutes lured their johns to a specific hotel and slipped their clients an LSD Mickey. “If I went down the whole list of the things we’ve done for you, we’d age another fucking year, so don’t feed me bullshit.”

  The Vice President left his hand in mid-air as it was batted away. “Yes, you’ve done very well at doing what we ask, but your loyalty is tainted by your ulterior motives, so don’t play these games with me anymore.”

  “You got some proof of this?” Dom Jr. asked. “Or did you suddenly decide to fuck with your best bulldog?”

  The Vice President pulled a folded envelope out of the inside of his suit jacket. He flipped open the lip and removed a letter soft with wrinkles. He read out loud: “Julian. There’s something I’ve never shared with you, somethin
g that you are not to share with Lil or Carissa. The burden of this secret, for now, will be yours.”

  As skilled as the rest of his family in masking his emotions, Julian’s fingers tightened imperceptibly on the handle of the cane. “Where did you get that?”

  The Vice President lifted his eyes from the letter and nodded at the Greys. One of them walked out of the room. The Grey returned moments later with the Dominic, Carissa’s youngest son. Dominic’s familiar gray gaze was hard, but a flicker of remorse lived within its depths.

  Julian blinked, and then his eyes narrowed. “What have you done?”

  “He’s picked a side Julian. Something you’re going to have to do,” the Vice President said with a callous smile.

  “You idiot,” Dom Jr. hissed.

  “Don’t lecture me,” Dominic spat defensively. “How could you keep a secret like this from the rest of us? How could you not allow us to all choose which way the family should go? We should honor the deals made. You don’t bite the hand that feeds you.”

  “I can forgive Stefano’s ambition. And you’ve been a good lap dog in his place.” The Vice President interjected calmly. “We’ve done our part to ensure that the possible future that our Seers have predicted doesn’t come to pass. Your job now, Julian, is to go home and reign in Marcello. Make sure he drops any sort of quest against the Anunnaki or the Roshaniya.”

  Julian stared at Carissa’s son for a long, impenetrable moment. Finally, he leveled his eyes on the Anunnaki. “No.”

  The Vice President’s brow subtly arched. “Excuse me?”

  “You heard me. I won’t do your dirty work anymore,” Julian said, simply.

  The Vice President looked over at Dom Jr. “And you?”

  Dom pulled his furious gaze from his cousin and looked at the Anunnaki. “I stand with my uncle.”

  “Leave us, Dominic,” the Vice President said.

  Dominic’s eyes flicked back and forth between his uncle and his cousin. “Don’t do this. It doesn’t have to go down like th—”

  “You heard him, Dominic.” Julian looked over at his nephew for the last time. “Get the fuck outta here. And I pray to God your mother never knows that only one of her sons had a life worthy of her maiden name.”

  Dominic’s jaw trembled, and his fists visibly shook. He stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

  He was standing in the hallway, trying to let his Uncles words roll off his back, when the screaming started.

  §

  July 6, 1974 - 9:11 AM

  Alcyone Island

  Dion Corporation Headquarters

  Not many people knew that a very important office could be found on the 52nd floor of the Dion Corporation building. Fewer still knew whose offices it was. That made the box that had been delivered strange in and of itself, but it took Marcello mere seconds to realize who would have sent it to him.

  Security had done their checks on it and determined it was safe to open. Marcello pulled the letter opener off his desk and cut the tape loose. When he pulled the lid open, his eyes widened at the grotesque sight that greeted him. “Oh, my God.”

  §

  “Isabella, I am deeply, deeply sorry.” Marcello squatted down in front of his younger cousin’s chair. He covered her tightly clenched hands.

  Dom Jr., her brother, was dead. Inside the box delivered to Marcello’s office just hours ago was his head. So was Uncle Julian’s.

  Matteo stood at the window, his eyes slowly leaking silent tears. “Who did this Marcello?” he demanded quietly.

  Isabella’s eyes shone wetly. She pressed trembling fingers against her mouth. A single tear came out of the corner of her eye, before the veil and control was found. At Matteo’s question, she brought those eyes to Marcello, silently asking the same.

  Marcello glanced over at Matteo, then back at Isabella, coming to a decision. He stood up. “We’re a family of secrets and we’ve been keeping them from each other. What I’m going to share with you now cannot be shared with your brothers.”

  “Tell us, Marcello.” Matteo turned away from the glass, his eyes landing on his cousin.

  Isabella’s brow arched sharply. “What kind of secrets?”

  Marcello regarded the two of them in brief silence before he spoke. “This started with my father and was given to yours. Even we Terenzios have a master, but it’s one we’ve already turned against.”

  Chapter 6

  “Think you can handle it? The day you look in the mirror and realize the evil that you’ll do?”

  - Stefano Vasco Terenzio

  October 18, 1994 - 6:22 PM

  Alcyone Island

  Cleona’s Italian Restaurant

  The kids have their first play tomorrow night. Anne and I would love it if you could make it.” Nicholas Terenzio-Fidelio looked over at his lover.

  Mario smiled softly. “I’d love to. Man, they grow up fast.”

  “Yes, they do.” Nicholas leaned across the seat and kissed him. “Have a good night.”

  Mario squeezed Nicholas’ thigh. “Enjoy your dinner meeting.”

  “Unlikely.” Nicholas kissed him again, and climbed out of the car with his blazer in one hand. When he entered Cleona’s, Alcyone’s finest Italian restaurant, he put the jacket on. “Hello, Jimmy.”

  “Ah, Mr. Fidelio. Miss Kayla is waiting for you.” Plucking up a menu, the maître d’ led Nicholas to the Terenzio family’s private booth. Kayla was sitting there, sipping a glass of white wine. She smiled politely at Nicholas and tilted her head up to accept the proprietary kiss he placed on her cheek.

  “Thank you for coming. How are Anne and the kids?” Kayla asked.

  “They’re fine.” Nicholas snapped open his menu. Once the maître d' had gone, he looked at Kayla. “What do you want?”

  Kayla’s mouth curved into a smile. “Your Uncle Joey is always so polite. So is your mother. What happened to you and your father, I’ll never guess.”

  “My Uncle doesn’t know when to shut up, and my father is an idiot,” Nicholas said evenly. “You’re right about Grandma Issa, though.”

  “How are you and your father getting along these days?” Kayla watched him closely.

  “We’re not.”

  “Shame. And all over Mario.”

  Nicholas’s eyes narrowed. “What do you want, Kayla?”

  “If you had a choice between controlling the world or letting the world control itself, which would you choose?” Kayla asked casually, bringing her wine glass to her mouth.

  A frown set on Nicholas’s face. “What the hell kind of question is that?”

  “A very simple yes or no one.” A hint of impatience exposed itself in her tone. “Answer it.”

  “My mother may have gotten married, but I am still a Terenzio, Kayla. That means we control the world, not the other way around.”

  She made a thoughtful noise. “You’d be surprised.”

  Nicholas arched a brow. “Meaning?”

  “What if I told you, your children’s future was at stake due to poor management choices? Specifically made by your uncle and my father?”

  Nicholas studied her face. At length, he said, “I’d tell you to keep talking.”

  “Nicholas…” Kayla reached across the short distance that separated them and touched his hand. Inwardly, she flinched, but her distaste for the physical contact was well hidden. “For the majority of your life, your father has thought you a waste. I’d like to give you a chance to not only prove him wrong, but help me move this family in the direction it should be going.”

  Nicholas stared at his water glass. Worthless, his father had always called him, and much crueler things before Dominic stopped acknowledging his son’s existence altogether. Nicholas had been strong enough to not give a fuck what his father thought, but a chance to really prove his worth and situate himself in a position of greater authority in the family was very, very appealing. He brought familiar gray eyes up to Kayla’s. “Maybe we should order something. I think we m
ay be here for a while.”

  §

  October 18, 1994 - 6:22 PM

  Alcyone Island

  Home of Carissa Terenzio

  *Dominic was irritated today, as he often was when he thought of what a colossal failure his son had become. He did not often think of Nicholas. Not after he'd caught him with... Shaking his head in disgust, Dominic forced the memory away and pushed open the door to his mother's home. It was Tuesday night, and he took her to dinner every Tuesday night. "Mother?" He called out from the foyer.

  Carissa Marie Terenzio-Fidelio may have been eighty-four years old, but she never let that stop her. It was no surprise, then, that she was busy when her youngest arrived to take her to dinner. "Up here, Dom!" Looking at the clock in front of her and registering that it was already 7:30, she slipped her reading glasses off and rubbed the bridge of her nose lightly before getting to her feet to head for the top of the stairs.

  Pulling the mail off the table in the foyer where it had yet to be retrieved, Dominic flipped through the envelopes as he climbed the staircase. "You spent the day in your office again, didn't you?" Dominic adored his mother. And it had festered over the years that Joey had been the favorite son. She didn't have to say it, and never would, his mother wasn't that type of woman; but he could see it. It was one of Dominic's many secrets that he had not been as sad as he'd pretended to be when Joey had finally died. Tucking that thought aside when he reached the top of the stairs, he met his mother’s gaze, leaned in, and kissed her cheek affectionately.

  Carissa's face lit up, as it always did, at the sight of her son. Joey used to light her face up the same way, before he died. She returned the kiss, waving one hand dismissively. "I meant to spend some time gardening this afternoon, but time flies when you're terribly old." Amusement glimmered in gray eyes that were still as sharp as ever they had been. Examining her son's face, she lifted heavily wrinkled hands to cup his face between them. "You look tired, sweetie. You work too hard."