The one soft place in that otherwise iron spine.
Cecilia Stavros.
“I think the Little Prince actually cares for you. Now, what was it you asked? What do you have to do with it? The answer is simple, my dear. Everything,” I purr, stepping closer so she can feel the weight of my gaze like a blade on her throat.
Her chin trembles. She tries to step back, but the men behind her hold her tight.
Good.
That fear—it’s delicious.
“You’re wrong. He feels nothing for me. I have nothing to do with any of this!” she repeats, trying to sound brave. Failing beautifully.
I lean in, close enough that she can smell the imported cologne she has never earned the right to wear.
“Liar, liar. The prince cares about you,” I whisper. “Which means you will be the first to suffer.”
Her breath stutters.
Ah. Lovely.
“But don’t worry,” I add softly. “I won’t kill you.”
Her eyes widen—hope flickering like a candle.
I smile wider.
“No. I want him alive long enough to watch what I do to you.”
Her scream is muffled by the hand clamping over her mouth.
And I savor the moment, before leaving her tied to a chair in the dark with blood trickling from her nose.
I know he’ll come for her.
And when he does, I’ll be ready.
Chapter Thirty-Two-Atlas
The sun is bright in Mykonos—obscene, really.
It sparkles off the turquoise water as if mocking me. The breeze carries salt and peace and everything I don’t feel.
Cecilia had laughed this morning. Laughed.
She kissed me goodbye with that wicked little mouth and told me not to be late for dinner.
God, I almost stayed.
I almost canceled the meeting. But I didn’t, because I wanted to clear the path.
Handle Li and the General.
Lock in the ore shipments.
Finish dismantling Dimitri’s grip on Hephaestus United so that I could give her everything.
My wife deserves a world without shadows.
