Harlon Constantine sits in a private booth near the back, his dark hair swept away from a face that has brokered more deals and buried more secrets than most men could fathom. Flanking him are the two men who are never far from his side: Santi, with his sharp jaw and sharper instincts, and Cassius, whose easy smile hides a mind that never stops calculating.
The three men who run Club Genesis.
I cross the room and extend my hand to Harlon first, then to the others in turn. For all intents and purposes, these men are allies. Friends, even though I know the men of Genesis view my presence in what they consider their city as a businessarrangement and nothing more. We pay our fees, we follow their rules, and in return they ensure the contracts that hold this underworld together remain honored.
It is a delicate balance. One I am about to tip in my favor.
From my understanding, the three of them share a wife. Or used to. I have never pried into the details, but no one ever sees them with anyone except the raven-haired beauty named Polaris. Whatever arrangement they have is their own business, and I make it a point to stay out of matters that do not concern me.
As I approach, fragments of their conversation drift toward me through the ambient noise of the club. I catch the wordscontractandMagnus, and something sharp and predatory unfurls in my chest.
"Milano." Harlon's voice is smooth, cultured, the voice of a man who has learned that power doesn’t come from being the loudest in the room. "Good to see you. We're enjoying a change of scenery. The same four walls back at Genesis get boring after a while."
I pull out the smile I reserve for making people comfortable around me, the one that sayswe are all friends hereeven when we are anything but. I know how to be a man of the people when the situation calls for it.
"Glad to have you. Your tab is on the house tonight." I settle into an easy stance, hands in my pockets, every inch the gracious host. "Couldn't help but overhear. You wouldn't happen to be discussing a contract between the Governor's daughter and Magnus Sterling?"
I am fishing, casting my line into waters I hope are teeming with exactly the information I need.
Harlon's eyes sharpen almost imperceptibly. "Something like that. Why do you ask?"
I let a beat pass, just long enough to suggest reluctance. "You might want to look into it. The word among my men is the girl is being forced to sign under duress." I hold his gaze with the steady certainty of a man delivering an unwelcome truth. "Far as I know, that is a direct violation of Genesis rules."
The shift in the booth is subtle but unmistakable. Santi straightens in his seat. Cassius's easy smile fades into something colder, more assessing. And Harlon—Harlon rises to his feet with the fluid grace of a man who has just been handed a problem he intends to solve.
He fixes his cuff with precise, unhurried movements and extends his hand to me. "Looks like we have some work to do. Thank you, my friend."
Santi stands, followed by Cassius, who drains the last of his whiskey before setting the glass down with a soft clink.
"I was really looking forward to a quiet drink." Cassius shakes his head, irritation flickering across his handsome features. "Why can't these fuckers just follow the rules?"
I watch them go, three dangerous men cutting through the crowd with purpose in their stride, and allow myself a small, satisfied smile.
That should buy me time. Time to get my own contract drafted. Time to get Persia's signature and her father's on paper that will bind her to me instead of Magnus Sterling.
Hell, time to get the bride under my roof. That is the first step.
The game has changed.
And I intend to win.
Six
Persia
Seven days have passed since I dropped my wish into a box lined with secrets and sin, and not a single one of those days has brought me salvation.
The makeup artist’s brush sweeps across my cheekbone for the third time, trying to cover the evidence of tears that refuse to stop falling. She’s a slight woman with nervous hands and a pitying expression she thinks I can’t see in the mirror, and every time she blends another layer of concealer beneath my swollen eyes, I feel another piece of my soul crack and crumble into dust.
“You need to stop crying, darling.” My mother’s voice cuts through the heavy silence of the bridal suite like a blade wrapped in silk. She stands behind me in a champagne-colored dress that costs more than most people's yearly salary, her diamonds catching the morning light that streams through the stained glass windows of the church’s preparation room. “The ceremony begins in twenty minutes and you look like something the cat dragged through a thunderstorm.”
I meet her gaze in the mirror and let her see exactly how much I hate her in this moment. “Stop? How? You’re forcing me tomarry a monster and want to act like I should be grateful to be used.”
She settles a delicate bolero over my shoulders. “Get this on. We don’t need people asking questions they don’t need to know the answers to.”
I slip into the matching satin jacket. I agree with her on this.
The makeup artist’s brush falters against my skin when I return to my seat, and my mother dismisses her with a wave of manicured fingers that sends the poor woman scurrying from the room like a mouse fleeing a cat. The door clicks shut behind her, leaving me alone with the woman who gave me life and is now watching me walk toward my death without lifting a single perfectly polished finger to stop it.
