Joseph’s face was twisted in a sneer. “No reason? No reason! I’ll—”
Ethan moved so fast that it was all over in seconds.
He wrapped his left arm around Joseph’s right, twisting it so that the gun fell from his hands.
Ethan kicked it away, then turned around and stepped back, using Joseph’s arm as leverage to flip him onto the ground, then flipped him again so he was facedown.
Ethan grabbed the gun and tucked it behind him, hiding it beneath his jacket.
When Joseph struggled to get up, Ethan bent both of Joseph’s arms behind his back, then twisted his hands until he screamed and went limp.
“Sir?”
Ethan’s head whipped up and he saw the female agent from earlier with several other agents nearby, guns drawn.
He gave Joseph a shove and rose, then checked his phone but saw the call with Marcello had been ended somehow. “This racist piece of shit said there’s two other potential targets. Is Marcello on site yet? He’s one of them, possibly the next one.”
One of the agents began speaking into his wristwatch, while another answered. “We’ll take care of it. We should take you to the bunker.”
“I have something else to take care of first. I’ll find my way there later. You’re all dismissed.”
“Sir—”
“That’s an order.”
The air hung heavy and still for a moment. They all knew that Marcello would beseverelyunhappy with the agents who let him go, but they couldn’t disobey a direct royal order, even though Marcello technically outranked him.
Protocol.
“There’s no immediate threat to my life anymore. Take Joseph into custody and process him. Please go do your jobs, and I’ll do mine. I was trained in the Navy and as a doctor. I can take care of myself and I can help. Please let me.”
The atmosphere relaxed just a slim bit, but it was enough to give them all breathing room.
Without waiting for a further response, he went back inside.
Taking a deep, staggered breath, he looked up and down the foyer, ignoring the curious gazes of people nearby. He pulled out his phone, then put it to his ear as a distraction. If someone did recognize him, they wouldn’t approach while he was on the phone. They would linger, watch, wait, but never approach until he was finished.
Protocol.
As a prince, he often hated protocol, hated the need to be dressed just so and to say just the right things and show only one face to the world. In his now precarious position, he used protocol to his advantage.
He turned left and delved deeper into the building. As a royal prince, he’d attended countless plays and musicals, even going backstage to meet the actors, actresses, and production crew. His knowledge of how the bowels of a theatre were usually constructed helped him now, just as it had helped him find Anda earlier.
Anda. Fuck. Was she okay? How long had he wasted dealing with that piece of shit, when he could have been helping her?
He delved further into the deep, the unnatural quiet making him uneasy.
When he heard the sounds of a struggle, he broke out in a run.
4
Then
ETHAN
Eighteen months ago…
Secret Chalet
