And then, two years ago, a bombing orchestrated by Diego Torvallés killed that father figure and put Sabine in a wheelchair a month after her twenty-first birthday.
Since then, I’ve taken her under my wing, almost like the little sister I never had. She doesn'tneedmy protection: paraplegic or not, she’s one of the toughest motherfuckers I’ve ever met. But still.
Stellan made me his family.
So now I’ve made his daughter mine.
Sabine’s spent a lot of the last four months working under Gaspard Leclerc, the senior Syndicate officer who essentially runs France for me. She’s been back and forth a lot: sometimes in New York with me, sometimes back in Paris. Recently, she admitted that she’d rather be in the States fulltime with me and my crew of psychopathic misfits.
She’s in the middle of getting her own place in the city. But for now, she’ll be staying here at Blackbriar Hall.
My brows knit. “Look, it's not that I don’t want you here…”
“Uh oh,” she gulps dramatically.
I roll my eyes. “The city might be…you know…a bit more manageable in terms of getting around. You might feel cooped up here in the house all the time.”
She shrugs. “Yes, but if I move to the city, I’ll miss out on all the hiking trails and rock climbing I keep hearing the Adirondacks are so famous for.”
I sigh. She grins impishly at me.
“Gallows humor, Vaughn.” She snickers. “Or more like gal-rollshumor.”
I groan as she snorts at her own terrible joke.
We chat a bit longer before jet lag catches up with her and she heads off to check out the elevator I had installed a month ago and go to her bedroom.
I pour myself another drink and head up to the observatory: a huge, glass-enclosed room set on one of the gothic rooflines of the mansion, with panoramic views of the mountains and the woods stretching out in almost every direction.
It doesn’t take long for Quentin to show up.
“This house is getting crowded.”
I nod, my gaze still piercing through the window, drinking in the last shards of sunlight as the sun dips behind a peak.
“You’re sure she won’t be a distraction?” he says quietly.
“She’s family,” I growl through my teeth. “She’s not going anywhere, if that’s what you’re implying.”
“I wasn’t implying anything of the kind, Vaughn.”
I turn, taking a slow sip of my drink.
“The proof you found was…helpful,” I murmur.
“The proof thatwefound,” he smirks, nodding sagely as he leans against the bookshelves near the door. Although you have…doubts.”
I frown. “Jameson Beaumont is obviously part of it. The arrogant prick spent his life with his tongue up Veyrac’s asshole.” I shake my head. “But Gordon…”
“Everyone has a side they don’t let the rest of the world see, Vaughn.” He tilts his head. “You of all people should know that.”
“It just doesn’t add up. He has more to lose going against me than to gain.”
“You’ve seen the proof, though.”
I nod unhappily. Quentin sighs.
“A king’s job is never easy, Vaughn. The sword of Damocles is always hanging by that goddamn thread over your head.” He leans on his cane, looking over his glasses at me, then his brow furrows as he delicately clears his throat.
