Chapter 72 Gregor’s MasK
CHAPTER SEVENTY TWO
Gregor's POV~
The safe house at Seryne looked like a fortress made of cold gray concrete, its walls as scrubbed bare as my grin in the cracked mirror, my gray suit immaculate as if it were cut from that unforgiving fleece that had coated my face and head on the way across town. I was stretched out in a steel chair, a glass of scotch in hand, the amber notes of the liquor profiling the flicker of the dome light sucked through the news wire feed looping on a burner phone: Gregor Galden captures in Lazareth sting. "Valenticia's blind," I whispered, voice icy and my lips curled in a triumphant sneer. The arrest was a joke, a legitimate play with a paid stand-in collared, to put my niece to sleep well. Fear? Absent. Unassailable, my empire — the serum of Lazareth, which could control the minds, unbreakable. I sipped the scotch, sharp bite, and opened a secure tablet, finished ironing out plans for the serum’s release: black-market purchasers already queued, distribution centers ready in Seryne’s docks. Valencia Clawford’s quixotic quest — her coastal lab raid, her auction hack — was the hum of a gnat against my dominion; her antidote, a glass dream I’d shatter.
Natasha’s report blinked on the tablet, her tone clipped through a secure connection: “Voss’s lab breach contained, but Valenticia’s got the reversal protocol.” My smile wavered, concern flashing through—so stubborn. “Restrain her,” I told him, my voice flat, “we should not allow them to commit again.” It was a small pause Natasha made, but I felt it, her ambition a snake writhing under her obedience. “Roger.” Too smooth, as always, and I hung up the phone, tapping my fingers on the table. She’s a risk, I thought, her bloodlust a twin to the hunger inside me, a danger I would eliminate once Valenticia fell. My eyes slid over the safe house’s barred window, Seryne’s skyline a shining web against a bruising sky, and I reclined determination steel—no one outsmarts me. Natasha’s meddling in Lena Voss’s lab, her plans to leak her serum This served my purposes but that spark in her eyes was a light I mistrusted; it was one I’d extinguish if it burned too bright.
A memory that was not a memory jabbed up uninvited and sharp as a splinter: my aunt Eleanor, Valenticia’s mother, in the study at the Clawford estate back in 1999, her voice a whip: “Your serum’s a monstrosity, Gregor — it will destroy her. She was the one who cost me his trust, and his teaching; Her defiance, and her whistleblowing with James had jeopardized my plans and I likewise had to shut them up, their deaths were necessary. The slap’s sting remains, her bravery a kind of reflection of my brutality and I buried it, my jaw clenching as the scotch shot warmed my insides. The sentiment is for sissies, I reminded myself, swirling the glass, the amber depths nothing but a black hole where family ties went to die. Valenticia was Eleanor’s echo, a loose end I’d tie off, her fortitude a poster I’d swat. I opened a file, Lazareth’s trial logs, my signature veiled in an alias she’d be doomed to never decipher.
My phone vibrated; it was an encoded notice: Valencia had broken into Marrow lab, protocol locked. Rage spiking, cold inferno, my glass slamming onto the table, scotch spattering like a bloody tide. “She’s too close,” I growled, my voice low, the words a curse. Her hack at the sale, revealing Voss’s Galden connections, her homing in on Lazareth, was a blade against my empire. How dare she? I punched in Natasha as my voice ran icy, “Now, Anderson—take her out of the picture.” Her response was blunt: “She’s slippery, but I’ll get you there.” I put down the receiver, my heart made of iron, determined to crush Valenticia’s flame before it started. She isn’t Eleanor, I thought, but a flicker of unease…a whisper —what if she was? The safehouse had a concrete floor, cold beneath my polished shoes; the sound of Seryne’s waves up close was a low roar outside that window. Lazareth had been my crown, a serum to lay low nations, and Valenticia’s protocol, her antidote dreams, were fissures I’d cap.
I checked the serum release schedule, buyers’ bids rising, my smirk smoothly fixed in place—and the power was mine. The allies of Valenticia—Rosanna's Marcus, Rosanna's detective, Marcus, Rosanna's grandmother’s faith—had been flies caught in my web and Stefan, her ruined lover, a pawn I'd manipulated behind the scenes of Natasha's café meeting. Break her heart, break her will, I had told her, and Natasha’s return confirmed my fracture. I poured another scotch, its scent harsh, and pressed a shoulder to the mirror, my reflection a king in shadow. Dr. Patel’s betrayal, feeding Valenticia the protocol, was a screw-up I’d punish, and Voss’s escape from the auction was a loose end Natasha would knot. My empire was a machine, oiled by terror, and Valenticia’s insubordination a gear I would break.
A coded call came in, Marrow’s, buzzed and I accepted it, voice edgy, “What now?” His rasp was low, urgent, “She has the protocol, Gregor — reversal agent, she’s near.” I roared, my fist clenched, unease flashing like a fault line. “Valenticia,” I winced, “you’re going to fall.”