Page 29 of Thrown to the Wolves

I learned to crave those shrugs, to live for the rare moments when Grandmother’s lips would even twitch into something resembling a smile. I thought it meant she loved me, in her own twisted way.

But love had no place in Grandmother’s world. Only power, only control. And when I finally realized that, when I finally found used the strength she gave me against her, and broke free…

I thought I had ended her forever.

But now I’m forced to confront the possibility that my past is not as dead as I thought. The idea of Grandmother out there, scheming and manipulating, fills me with a dread I haven’t felt in years.

And Scarlett...the woman who has consumed my thoughts since our first meeting. Despite everything, despite the fact that she wants me dead, I found myself drawn to her.

Was it because I saw a reflection of myself in her? Another lost soul, twisted and turned by Grandmother’s machinations? Or is it something more, this connection I don’t understand?

I shake my head, trying to clear my thoughts. I can’t afford to be distracted, not now. Not with Grandmother’s shadow looming over everything.

What this means for the Syndicate…it’s unthinkable. I need to talk to Hadria.

But I need to calm my mind first.

So I head to the training room, naturally, hoping to lose myself in the familiar rhythm of training. The burn of my muscles, the sweat on my brow, the single-minded focus required—it’s always been my escape.

And it works…until I’m interrupted.

Aurora and Marco come in after half an hour, good-naturedly shit-talking each other as they prepare to spar. Aurora smiles at me, her eyes bright with admiration. “Lyssa! I should have known you’d be here.”

I manage a tight smile, my mind still preoccupied with the ghosts of my past.

“Hadria says we’ll have some new recruits soon,” Aurora continues, oblivious to my inner turmoil. “I’m sure you’ll whip them into shape in no time.”

Her words trigger a flood of memories. Training Aurora, pushing her to her limits, making her into something she was not, and never should have been. And before her, countless others.

My methods—are they too similar to Grandmother’s? Have I become the very monster I sought to destroy?

The thought chills me. I’ve always prided myself on being different from Grandmother, on being better. But faced with the reality of my own actions, I’m not so sure. The grueling hours, the relentless drills. Did I push the recruits too hard? Did I cross the line from mentor to tormentor?

Faces flash through my mind. Fear in their eyes, bruises on their bodies. At the time, I told myself it was necessary, that I was making them stronger, better.

But maybe I was just perpetuating the cycle of abuse that Grandmother started.

The thought is too much to bear. Abruptly, I turn to Aurora and Marco. “You two can have the room. I have some business to attend to.”

I don’t wait for a response, just about sprinting up to Hadria’s room. I need to talk to her. Now.

But she’s not there. Her door guard tells me she went up to the roof, and that’s where I find her—in the rooftop pool, lazily swimming laps. She’s alone, vulnerable. The sight makes me…

I’m not someone who panics, but this must be what panic feels like, I think.

“You shouldn’t be wandering around without protection,” I call out to her, voice tight with tension. “God, you’re worse than Mrs. G. And a lot of people have good reason to want you dead, Hades.”

Hadria swims lazily to the edge of the pool and looks up at me. “I’m in the heart of Bianchi territory, Lyssa. I’m as safe as can be in this city.”

We’re all getting way too comfortable in my opinion, walking around like we’re untouchable. So I fold my arms and glare down at her. “We need to talk. Outside the hotel.”

Something in my tone must convey the gravity of the situation. Hadria swims rapidly to the ladder and hauls herself out. “I need to shower and dress. Meet me downstairs in fifteen—we’ll go to Elysium.”

We take twin motorbikes, and the ride to the estate passes without me fully registering it, my mind still consumed by the implications of Grandmother’s return. As we pull up to the still-under-construction mansion, passing through the guard house at the gate—still staffed, and always will be, even though the bulk of the Syndicate is elsewhere right now—I’m struck by how different it looks. The previous, imposing Brutalist structure has been razed to the ground. In its place, a modern, light-filled mansion is taking shape.

It’s a fitting metaphor, I suppose. Out with the old, in with the new. A chance to start over, to build something better.

I kind of miss the old place, though.

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