Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 86768 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86768 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
“Her father?” he asks.
I nod once.
He knows what I’m thinking about. He understands my reaction. Caius knows me well, better than anyone in the world.
“Let’s go get the son of a bitch,” he says.
Again, I nod, because I’m too furious to speak. My brother and I enter the ballroom together, and heads turn. Just like the soldiers, I’m sure we’re giving off a particular energy.
One of aggression.
Of violence walking.
It takes all I have to unclench my hands, and I have to keep my arms stiff at my sides as if a marching soldier as I scan the room and find him. Marnix De Léon. He’s in the same place he was earlier—holding fucking court, laughing. Drunk.
His boy, Odin, sees us first. He doesn’t make a move to warn his father, or maybe he just doesn’t have time. When we get to their circle, our soldiers close in enough to make an impression but not so tight that we draw too much attention.
“Excuse us,” I say. My eyes are locked on Marnix, but I’m speaking to the people gathered around him.
“He needs a word with his future father-in-law. Just hammering out some wedding details. Bridezilla and all,” Caius says in that way of his like he’s relaxed and so casual. So charming.
“What’s this about?” Odin asks as Marnix swallows the whiskey in his glass.
The group dissipates.
I don’t look at Odin. I don’t take my eyes off Marnix. “You and me have something to discuss.”
“I don’t think we have anything to discuss—”
“Let’s go.” I gesture to the soldiers, one of whom knocks into Marnix from behind to nudge him.
“I’m guessing we’ll need some privacy,” Caius says to me. “I know where we can go.”
His coming here as often as he has been is paying off. Caius leads the way, with Marnix, Odin, me, and the soldiers trailing him. We use a door I hadn’t noticed before to leave the ballroom. It’s one servants might have used to come and go unseen.
Caius really has taken to getting to know the layout of the place. We are in a deserted corridor, where we pass half a dozen closed doors, but Caius heads to the one at the far end. He produces a key and unlocks it, then steps aside. “After you,” he says to Marnix.
Marnix glances at the stairs leading down, then back at Caius. “What the hell is this about?”
I walk around to face him. I’ve managed to get myself at least a little bit under control. I glance down to his belt, then back up. “Is this the belt you used?”
Marnix De Léon, my soon to be father-in-law, goes white as a ghost before my eyes.
I see Odin’s face in my periphery, see his confusion, then a too-quick understanding that leads me to believe this isn’t the first time this has happened.
“Where is my sister?” he asks me, suddenly panicked. He turns to walk back into the ballroom. I gesture to a soldier, who stops him. “Where is my sister?”
“She’s safe. No thanks to you.” I turn back to Marnix. “Down. Now.”
No one waits for him to move on his own. The soldier closest to him grips him by the shoulder and marches him down the stairs.
“It’s not the fanciest space, but I am thinking the way you look, you’re more concerned with privacy and good sound proofing,” Caius says as we follow him down. One soldier stays upstairs to guard the door. We’re in a cave-like space, a wine cellar. It seems to span the length of the building based on the lights that go on one after the other, probably on sensors. The floor is dirt, while the walls are carved stone, and shelf after shelf is stocked full with bottles collecting dust. The building itself is built on a cliff so I guess this was carved out of that rock. “Had a tour,” Caius says to me. “There’s about fourteen thousand bottles down here. Can you believe it?”
“I can, actually.”
“Good stuff, too. I sampled.”
I would chuckle if I wasn’t so preoccupied.
“No one will hear a sound,” he adds to Marnix De Léon’s discomfort. “And although it’s a little chilly, getting blood out of carpet is hard work. Housekeeping will thank you.”
I let out a short exhale. I appreciate my brother’s ability to hold onto his sense of humor no matter what. I’m too fucking serious for that.
“What did you do?” Odin asks his father, who brings his nearly empty whiskey glass to his lips to drain the last drops then sets it on the stone table slab in the center of the room. It has a four-inch wooden chopping block cut to fit on top. He’s right-handed. I make a mental note.
“Yeah, old man. Tell your boy what you did.”
Marnix looks at me with hate-filled eyes. He’s terrified, I can see that. He may have hired crooks to do his dirty work for him before, like he unknowingly hired us to take care of his enemy, but he’s never crossed a mafia family. Does he realize yet that the shit in the movies and the books is real? Does he get that we don’t fuck around?