Something tightens low in my throat. Heat crawls up the back of my neck, sharp and immediate, like he’s crossed a line he doesn’t even see. The wordbelongsslaps,heavy with implication, and I have to lock my jaw to keep my reaction from showing.
I let out a short laugh. “Ironic you should say that. I understand you took something of mine.”
His brow furrows, just enough to register confusion. “I’m not sure what you mean.”
I lean forward, keeping my voice low. “My father. Robert Stone. You ordered his murder, and I want to know why.”
The shift is immediate. Laurent’s posture tightens, his expression hardening.
“I didn’t kill your father,” he says. “And I had no reason to.”
“Your man did,” I reply. “I watched him do it. And then he said you ordered it right before I killed him.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know his name,” I say. “The one with the birthmark on his neck.”
Recognition flickers across Laurent’s face. Not guilt. Something closer to irritation.
“Juno,” he says slowly. “If he killed your father, he acted without my authorization. He wasn’t sent by me. I can assure you that.”
My hands clench beneath the table. “You expect me to believe that one of your men just went rogue and murdered Robert Stone on his own? What kind of fucking idiot do you think I am?”
Laurent leans back, his gaze steady. “I respected your father. We didn’t agree on everything, but killing him would’ve brought a war I had nothing to gain from. You think I wanted that kind of attention?”
The logic lands whether I want it to or not, and it pisses me off.
“If you didn’t send him,” I say with a pause, choosingmy words carefully. “Then why was he there? Why was he acting like he represented you?”
“That’s not a question I should be answering for you.”
I still my hands beneath the table and force myself to breathe evenly, slow enough that he won’t hear the shift.
“I realize that. I’m asking if you have any thoughts.”
Laurent studies me for a moment, then leans forward, lowering his voice. “Because someone wanted him to look like the directive was from me. Someone fed him a story that pointed straight at me. You think I’d risk implicating myself in your father’s death? That would’ve been suicide. Whoever he was working for, it wasn’t me.”
I watch his face carefully. The denial doesn’t wobble. That’s the problem.
He lets the silence stretch before shifting the conversation. “You have my daughter. Corinne.” His voice tightens around her name. “I need to know she’s alive.”
That name doesn’t fit the woman I know.
“She is,” I say. “As long as things stay under control.”
“What are you planning to do with her? Think very carefully before you answer this, because it dictates how the rest of this goes.”
“That depends on how honest you’re being.”
Laurent’s jaw tightens. “She has nothing to do with this. If you have a problem with me, keep it with me. I didn’t kill your father, but regardless, she doesn’t belong in this conversation.”
I hold his gaze. “I don’t know who’s connected yet. Until I do, she stays where she is.”
The anger in his eyes sharpens, but he reins it in.
“If anything happens to her,” he says evenly, “I won’t come for you directly. That would be messy. I’ll come for what you protect and make you look weak. I’ll destroy the things your father spent decades building, piece by piece.”
“I wouldn’t expect otherwise. It appears we understand each other, then.”
