Then I leave the room quietly and meet Michail at the top of the stairs.
“What is it?” I ask.
He offers me a phone. “Your father-in-law.”
Fuck.
I take the phone and put it to my ear.
“It’s done,” Luc Batiste growls.
His voice is sharp even through static—plane noise, probably. Private jet. Of course.
“Done?” I echo, still shaking off sleep.
“Cleaned. Everything has been taken care of. Now—how’s my girl?”
My jaw clenches. Hard.
Because I know he means Cecilia.
And I know he has the right.
But Cece is my girl.
My wife.
Mine.
And it takes everything I have not to let a snarl curl out of my throat.
“She’s asleep,” I say. “A little bruised.”
My voice sounds rough, like gravel and broken glass. Rage, grief, and something else I’m still not ready to name.
He grunts. “Anything broken?”
“No,” I whisper. “Thank God.”
Another pause. Then, “I saw what you did to him. And don’t think for a moment I’ll forget she got taken under your watch?—”
Every muscle in my body locks.
I brace for the verbal beating I deserve.
“—but I saw what you did.”
I go still.
“You got her back, Atlas. You got her back, and you made him pay.”
Then, the last thing on earth I expect, he sniffs and says, “Thank you.”
Everything inside me stutters.
My heart.
My breath.
