Raphael Mirabaud
Dieter Schwarz
Everything.
Dieter sat with his arms around Flicka, his heart pounding like he had run a hundred miles.
Of all the things she could have asked him, why did she choose that?
But he’d never lied to her.
Dieter held her more tightly, stroking her upper arm, and he whispered, “Yes.”
His lungs felt scalded like that one time he’d beenon the edge of a chemical weapon attack in Syria. Even though he held Flicka in his arms, he sensed she was slipping away from him.
She might be mere minutes from being legally free of Pierre Grimaldi.
Maybe she didn’t need Raphael anymore.
Dieter.
Maybe she didn’t needDieter Schwarzanymore.
He shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts.
Flicka asked, “And it’s really Raphael Mirabaud,isn’t it?”
His chin moved on her head as he nodded.Yes, it was.He’d denied it for more than a decade, but it was.
Flicka asked, “And it’s the Mirabaud family in Geneva, isn’t it, the one who owns Geneva Trust?”
Raphael,Dieter,cleared his throat. He could feel the violence, the ruthlessness, of Raphael hovering behind him like an evil spirit, ready to possess him. “Yes.”
“I know ValerianMirabaud, and two of the Mirabaud girls have gone through my cotillion in Paris.”
“I saw them.”
“Were they your sisters?”
“My cousins,” he said. “My sisters are all older than I am by quite a bit.”
“Oh.” She paused, and Dieter’s heart paused with her. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because that’s not who I am anymore,” he said. “My name is Dieter Schwarz, no matter what my passport says. I’myourLieblingwächter.I’m not a Mirabaud.”
“They own a bank,” she said. “What on Earth could they have done that’s so horrible?”
“Everything.”
Dating back to before World War Two and continuing unabated and with ever-growing malice, they had doneeverything.
His phone chimed in his pocket.
“Flicka, we have to go.”
