“There isn’t enough money in the world to take me away from my sister right now.”
The defiance in her voice, the steel in her spine as she faced me down in that dreary hospital room—itshouldn’tsurprise me anymore. Robin has always been stubborn, has always been slow to obey. It’s one of the things that drew me to her in the first place, that fierce loyalty in her that burns brighter than common sense.
It’s also one of the things that will destroy her if she’s not careful.
I have to force my hand down from my mouth, where I’d been about to chew on a nail, a nervous habit I broke years ago as a child. Leon notices—of course he does. Leon notices everything. But he doesn’t comment, simply sits across from me with that perfect posture of his, hands folded, waiting for me to speak.
The child in that hospital bed haunts me as much as Robin. Maisie, isn’t it? Maisie, with her pale skin and fragile face, hooked up to machines that beeped out the rhythm of her struggling life. She’s so young, so breakable, but there was something in her sleeping face that reminded me of?—
Don’t.
But the thought comes anyway, of course. She reminded me of my father. Not physically, of course—Zoltan Novak was never fragile, never weak—but in that same stubborn refusal to surrender until the very end.
Maisie has a chance, though. A future that my father lost the moment some bastard put him in a coma. She has potential, hope, years of life ahead of her if she gets the right treatment.
If Robin accepts my offer.
If Robin doesn’t, well...
Then I’ll ensure the child gets what she needs anyway. Robin can hate me for it—God knows she already does—but I won’t let an innocent child die because of her pride.
The realization is unexpected. When did I become someone who saves children? When did I start caring about anything beyond my own empire, my own carefully constructed world of power and control?
I know the answer, even if I don’t want to acknowledge it. It started with Robin. Everything started with Robin.
“Arrange for the girl’s treatment,” I say.
Leon’s dark eyes meet mine. “The sister?”
“Whatever it takes. Money, specialists, transport if necessary.” The words come out clipped, businesslike, as if I’m discussing a routine weapons shipment instead of a child’s life. “And pay off that bloodsucking slumlord who’s been threatening them, too.” Leon’s report to me yesterday about all of Robin Rivers’ current woes came complete with the paltry sum that she owed on her rent. Paying it off will give her some breathing room. And I want Robin to make her decision with a clear head.
To remember the benefits of bending to my will.
Leon takes out his phone and begins making calls. He doesn’t ask why. Doesn’t probe into my motives or question the wisdom of spending Consortium resources on a dying child in Las Vegas, or paying someone’s overdue rent. He knows when to speak and when to simply execute orders without judgment.
The car glides to a stop outside the Golden Sands Casino, its facade glittering as much as the woman who now runs it. My bodyguards appear immediately from the cars in front and behind, the security convoy Leon always organizes for my meetings. They cover my exit from the car—after Paris, we can’t be too careful—and usher me toward the entrance.
I walk through the marble lobby in the midst of them, my head barely coming up to their shoulders. But my presence here in Vegas is the same as everywhere else. Conversations falter as I pass. Patrons glance my way and then quickly look away, some primitive instinct warning them not to stare too long.
They know power when they see it. They know danger. And they don’t want to attract it.
If only they knew how fractured I feel beneath this perfect exterior. How one woman has taken a sledgehammer to the foundations of everything I thought I was.
The private boardroom is exactly the same. Brie Colombo sits at the head of the table in a cream suit and a lot of heavy gold jewelry, her blonde hair swept back from her face in a style that makes her look every inch the successful businesswoman.
She has grown into her role. Even I have to admit that.
But she is not the only person present in the room.
Dominika Kusek sits at Brie’s right hand, silent and watchful as a hawk. She still has her father’s eyes. Mikolaj’s eyes, the same ones that used to look at me with something approaching affection when he served as my father’s bodyguard years ago.
Before his daughter betrayed everything our families had built together.
Seeing her here, serving Brie Colombo instead of me, is salt in a wound that refuses to heal. Dominika should have been my lieutenant, a trusted ally. Instead, she sits at another woman’s table, and every time I look at her I’m reminded of my failures.
Perhaps that’s why I hate her so much. Not for who she is, or even what she’s done, but for what she represents.
Another mark against me in a ledger that’s already too long.
