Synarchy Book 1: The Awakening

by DCS

  When the moment sated them he fell onto his back and pulled her against his chest, remembering how good it felt to have her heated bare skin pressed against his. He tipped his face against her hair, nuzzled in the softness of it and told her again.

  She looked up at him, her hair hanging in soft disarray around her face, her mouth swollen from his kisses. She gently traced his cheek with the touch of her fingertips then drew that hand over his eyes. He slept moments later.

  She did not, but watched him instead. Woke him once to feel him inside of her again then let him slip back into peaceful unconsciousness. There were tears in the second silence, and her soft whisper to invade his dreams. “I love you, Stefano.”

  When he woke, she would be gone.

  Chapter 14

  ”You too shall prevail in the hereafter. The body will turn to dust but it is only a costume for the real you. That which you perceive as you inside your head will remain. It is true. I am proof.”

  -Thomas Johnson

  June 8th, 2012

  Undisclosed location

  Alcyone Island 11:11 PM

  When it’s all over you’ll learn that beginnings don’t matter. Not even the end does. What matters is what you did in the middle, how you wielded the story you were responsible for telling. What matters is who you want to remember you and if they do. What matters is what those you care about most thought of you, if at all. The rest, my son, is simply life.

  His father’s journal had been like a bible in his hand for the majority of his life. Whenever he sought answers to life’s toughest questions, there was always something in the old worn pages that would put him at ease. Even now he found comfort from the words of the man he’d never met but loved regardless.

  Well-aged and deeply tired gray eyes slid over to his son who slept fitfully in the chair by his bedside. There was a curve to his mouth; the move­ment brought the beginnings of his smile. Most men in his position would have been ashamed of a son that wasn’t a fit heir, but Marcello was not most men. Not once had he ever been disappointed in his children, especially Demetrius who had always been emotional, unable to repress or control what he was feeling with any measure of success. It didn’t matter, not to Marcello. Demetrius had contributed to the family in his own way, period.

  Marcello closed the journal carefully, running his palm over the scuffed leather. He supp­osed in the end it was fitting to start thinking about the beginning. Especially when death made you aware it was coming then took its sweet ass time arriving. In his mind, it boiled down to pivotal moments, the ones that were profound enough to push at the veil that hid what a Terenzio was really thinking.

  Most of it was his Mari, not the business, but there were moments for that, too. To have pulled off being the man in the shadows was a family history-making feat. To this day, most of their suppliers and everyday associates had no idea what was on the 52nd floor of the Dion Corp building, or who Mr. President really was. He had sat in boardrooms and back alley deals unnoticed as the hand that was pushing it all into place. That still made him grin privately in prideful delight. One move forces another, then another. A step back returned two forward on the next turn. Before it was realized the pieces had been neatly manipulated to where he wanted them in the first place.

  Checkmate.

  The hunt, the choice of the kill had never failed to excite him. But Mari had excited him too, in so many other ways.

  “Just one question.” Asked quietly with a smile that was, just enough. “What do you want for breakfast?”

  Oh, Marilyn melted. Really. She had so much liquor inside of her; she felt like one big puddle and was amazed she didn’t drip through the rungs of her barstool. But that sugary, sappy confection of a moment quickly passed. Her eyes darkened. She dipped her chin. And her hands moved, slightly, higher. “You.”

  Marcello couldn’t help but smile at the memory. It came gradually over his bearded face and he turned his head to settle his eyes on that single picture on the nightstand. His vision blurred slightly with unshed tears as he reached out and pulled the picture towards him.

  Life was full of firsts. The first date, the first kiss. The first time he made love to her, an event that surely sealed their fate even if their first mee­ting hadn’t. Loving his wife had been the easy part. Attempting to make a relationship work with so many factors stacked up against you was the real challenge. They couldn’t go out to many social ga­therings together; he was off the map. Bodyguards were required and that didn’t always afford a lot of privacy. They were sneaking around, but they wer­en’t. More than once he had told her he would un­derstand if she wanted to walk away from him, if it ever got to be too much to take. He’d always loved her a little more when she looked angry at him for even mentioning it.

  “Marilyn, this will get harder before it gets any easier. I may not be the one you want to have a relationship with.”

  Marilyn tensed. Her features hardened. But she leaned in and took his face into her hands. “Don’t say that,” she said quietly, but fiercely. “If I didn’t want this, if I didn’t want you, I wouldn’t be here. I would wait three weeks this time, however many it will be next time and I wouldn’t come with you the time after that.”

  She made him do it, hold his breath while he waited for her answer. Then it came. Perhaps it was too soon, but it didn’t matter. It was a choice made entirely on his own without any guiding hand or veil to hide him. He drew his arms tighter around her and whispered, “You won’t do it for nothing. I’m in love with you.”

  It seemed like yesterday he’d whispered those words to her for the first time. How long had it really been? Nearly sixty years ago? Human time came and went so quickly these days. The decades they were married weren’t long enough. He’d lost a year with her because of his own stupidity, and lost her for good when the Brotherhood decided to remove her. Partly because it appeared a mother’s love was overriding the programming they’d done on Kayla, partly because he’d killed one of their own. His eyes darkened at the memory. But that moment passed and was followed by another.

  Kayla.

  Her appearance, though predicted, had been a terrible strain on their marriage. Thankfully, only for a short while. Neither of them could forget her true “purpose” of course, but Marcello had been unable to stop himself from loving his wife’s child with the same fierce emotion he extended to his other two children. Even Demetrius had welcomed his new little sister with open arms.

  To this day, he did not know if Kayla was ever given the order to kill him. After she arrived, he had told Matthew that he didn’t want to know, for fear of what he would do. No, instead he’d taken a risk much like his own father had done with him. Whet­her or not Kayla actually thought of herself as a member of the family would be determined, soon.

  Marcello laid the picture of his wife against his chest and closed his eyes. He let his thoughts drift to Mari again, the day after he’d murdered Deucalion and finally come home. A rare moment when he’d given into the notion that the strength of their emotion could stop anything. It was with this memory that he intended to release his final breath.

  “I can’t tell you that you’ll never have to be afraid of them again. I can’t tell you that everything will be okay with Kayla, that we’ll beat this.” He hated that. It was a demon he couldn’t slay, laughing at him. Even so the next words slipped from his mouth in a different kind of helpless, broken whisper. “But I want you anyway. Selfishly.”

  Marilyn tore her eyes from the window, tears welling once more. "Show me," she said, voice soft and trembling. "Look at me like you used to, Marcello. Touch me like you want me. Please. I can't--" Her fingers closed in the cotton of her shirt. "I've missed you so much…."

  A year ago he’d told her couldn’t. Let her walk away. And now, after everything, when it was more real than it had ever been she still….

  He came forward in two short steps, wrapping his arms around her. She fell into his arms with such dizzying relief and the te
ars came again, damp into his chest as she whispered, “God, Marcello, you feel so good.”

  He trembled and pulled her closer. Set his lips at her ear and whispered back, “I love you.”

  She held him so tightly her arms could have broken, but she wouldn't have felt a thing. Not a single thing, save the heady bliss of his touch and the heaven that was his voice in her ear. Marilyn lifted her head and aquamarine met gray. “I love you, too.”

  There was nothing Marcello could do when the door to his room was kicked open. A suit sleeve raised before he could snap open his eyes. The trigger was pulled before he could make out the face. A single shot from the muzzle of the silencer landed in Demetrius’s knee.

  Feelings of helplessness slammed into Mar­cello as his son’s furious scream of startled pain echoed out. Demetrius clutched at his leg, bending slightly forward in the chair, his face twisted in agony. Scar face didn’t even glance in Marcello’s direction as he strode over to Demetrius’s side, steadily holding the gun on him.

  “That has to hurt,” Olivia said casually, standing in the doorway with a smug look of triumph on her face.

  Marcello’s eyes narrowed to slits, quiet fury steaming on the surface of that unique color as he looked at his niece. He was not unaware on which side she played. He knew a lot more than either she or her cousin thought he did. It was an advantage handed over to the next players of the game.

  “You are terribly unimpressive, Olivia.” It was one of the hardest things he ever had to do; ignore his son’s sounds of anguish as he spoke. And as the sudden sharp knife-like pain shot through his chest, he realized this would be his final move.

  “It was never you I felt the need to impress. Marcello.” Her voice dripped with disdain as she walked over to his bedside. “You don’t look well so we’ll make this quick. Where are the triplets?”

  Demetrius shot his head up at the question, shaking slightly from the intense sting that was burning through what felt like every cell in his body. “Fuck you, Olivia.”

  Scar face made motion to hit Demetrius, halted only by Olivia’s lifted hand.

  Marcello arched a smart brow, and then shook his head. “You’ll have to do a lot better than that.”

  Her own family-colored eyes narrowed slightly as she canted her head at him. Sizing up her prey. The smile she returned was void of any humor. She dropped her hand, nodded once in Scar face’s direction. The ugly man dropped his arm, pressing the muzzle of the gun against Demetrius’s opposite knee. The struggle put up wasn’t good enough to stop the trigger from being pulled, the bullet ripping through the bone.

  Demetrius’s hoarse scream seemed to reverberate through the room. It bounced off bare walls and struck Marcello’s ears so harshly he could feel his son’s agony. It was a testament to how fully Stefano’s son he could be when needed; the appearance of unconcern for his own son and cold fury at his niece’s insolence never left Marcello’s eyes. She wasn’t good enough to play with him yet. “Tell me something I’ve always wanted to know, Olivia, was it you or Amadeo that pushed the button to kill your fathers?”

  Unmovable Terenzio resolve. She could see it quite clearly in her great uncle’s eyes. He was as heartless as his father to not even glance at his son when he was shot. And how the fuck did he know about….

  Sharp annoyance slapped Olivia’s features as she stalked over to Demetrius. She ripped the gun away from Scar face and pressed it against Demetrius’s temple herself. “Let’s play chicken, Marcello. One more time, where are the triplets?”

  Marcello followed Olivia’s movements and zoned in on the gun when it was pressed against his son’s head. So very slowly he pulled his eyes away and looked directly at Demetrius.

  Sweat dripped down his wrinkled face, the sharp jolts of pain that kept running through his body made him tremble irregularly. He was struggling to keep hold of consciousness but there was no mistaking the look in his eyes. From one father to another, what a parent will do to protect their child. Just barely, Demetrius’s lips twitched into a sad smile. He nodded his head, just enough.

  The veil almost dropped. For seconds, Marcello’s vision blurred with impending moisture. In glance alone he told his son what he could not express in words; how proud this father was, how much this son was loved. It was a small comfort to see that emotion reflected back to him.

  Another stabbing ache shot through Marcello, a telltale sign of death sneaking closer. The gaze of steel hardened over the years, impenetrable, settled on Olivia. The final move was made. “Nowhere you can find them.” Marcello lips curled up into a cruelly omniscient smile. “We will die to see our will done, Olivia. And it will be done.”

  Her face twisted with rage. “No parent should live to see their child die twice. Let that be your last thought.”

  Demetrius did not shy away from the inventible. His eyes remained on his father until the bullet came, killing him instantly. But one single word had slipped from his lips in a whisper, just before the gun exploded.

  “Checkmate.”

  Because just before Olivia Terenzio could pull that trigger, Marcello Terenzio died.

  Chapter 15

  "The real menace of our Republic is the invisible Government which, like a giant octopus, sprawls its slimy legs over our cities, states, and nation."

  - John F. Hylan - Mayor NYC

  June 9th, 2012

  Undisclosed location

  Undisclosed location time unknown

  Vasco was ripped from sleep because he suddenly just knew. His wife. His son. His father. Gone.

  A Terenzio wore the veil even alone. In one lifetime he had been the master of it. The example set for all the rest. Maybe it was because it was not that lifetime. Maybe it was because they had all been so deeply loved even if it was rarely expressed. Maybe it didn’t matter why, but he was overcome. He lifted a hand to shield his eyes, as if hiding the truth of his tears and silent shaking.

  He wasn’t sure how long he stayed like that. Eventually the tears stopped and he could compose himself enough to face his siblings. He took a quick shower and dressed. Using his cell phone he called Lucien, asking to meet him at the elevators to the Vault.

  Five minutes later Lucien greeted him red-eyed but alert. “She leave?” He was smiling as he asked it, but the expression dropped off his face when he got a full glimpse of his brother’s. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. She’s gone. For good,” Vasco replied quietly. He didn’t want to tell his brother about what he had felt concerning Marcello and Demetrius. It would be confirmed soon enough.

  Lucien blinked in surprise. “For good?” Realization set in and he said, “Shit. I’m sorry, V.”

  “It’s all right. What are you two working on downstairs?” Vasco asked as they got into the elevator.

  It wasn’t all right. But Lucien didn’t expect to get much more out of his brother than that. He did grin slightly at the question though. “Updates on our Anunnaki friends and what I’m calling their thirteen bitches.”

  “Good.” Vasco nodded. They both exited when the doors opened and Lucien led the way past the Holons and towards a conference table that was sitting behind them. Three laptops had been set up and in the hours that had passed Lucien and Simone had cluttered the table with boxes filled with paper and digitalized information.

  Simone had a pen in one hand, a notepad directly in front of her and was furiously scribbling as she read from the thick binder next to her. She looked up when her brothers appeared and smiled at them both. The expression froze on her face for the same reason Lucien’s had before. She tilted her head at them in question, but Lucien shook his head and diverted her away from asking. “Tell him what we found, Simone.”

  She hesitated, looking at them both a moment longer then plunged ahead, dropping her pen. “I just want to reiterate that not only was I the shit in previous lifetimes but I am in this one too. Combined with what we remember…” It was still weird as all hell to say that. “…and the information down here, i
t’s all falling into place.” She paused as they both sat down at the table, and pulled her hair back into a messy bun. “The Anunnaki and the Brotherhood are about the same as you remember them, Vasco, and, no surprise, they are the ones standing in the way of us allowing the Ascension.”

  Vasco figured she would say that. Thirteen bloodlines, all fanatically loyal to their “Gods” and for good reason. Thirteen bloodlines he’d known a lifetime ago his own family couldn’t afford to war with. He knocked his back teeth together in tho­ught, unnoticing that it was a common habit he had done when he lived as Stefano. Finally he asked, “How are they divided now?”

  Simone picked up her notepad. “All over the place. They are the Trilateral Commission, The Bilderberg Group, The Council of Foreign Relations, The Bohemian Club, The Club of Rome. There are also a few ‘think tanks’ of note, like the Tavistock Institute, and the Rand Corporation. The infamous Illuminati has breakdowns in each American city, starting with thirteen board members at a local level. Most are the politicians we’ve thought we’ve had in our pocket for years.”

  “Shit.” Vasco said quietly. How the hell were they going to pull this feat off? He leaned back in the chair, stretching his left leg out as he folded his arms over his chest. He clucked his tongue, then looked back up at his siblings. “What else?”

  “They’ve been busy.” Simone dropped her notepad and pulled the binder closer to her. “They have 140 deep underground military bases in the United States alone, also known as DUMBs. There are 1,500 worldwide. They are all connected by an oxygenated magnetoleviton train system that can reach speeds of Mach2+. Above ground there are eight hundred prison camps, the largest in Fairbanks, Alaska. They finished building the last of them a year ago. It’s a very effective way to stop the Ascension and generate negativity energy. Almost as good as a war.”