When I pull back, her eyes are bright with understanding. "I think we are going to be friends, Persia Milano."
"I think so too."
Rafael guides me deeper into the club after that, his hand never leaving my back as he explains the hierarchy of this place in low tones meant only for my ears. Key Bearers and Key Masters, tiers of membership that grant access to increasingly exclusive experiences, a clandestine society within a sex club where realpower resides and fates are decided by men who move through shadows like they own them. Probably because they do.
Rafael is one of them, a Key Master who unlocks doors and controls access and influences what happens behind scenes that most people never even know exist.
I am married to a man whose power extends far beyond what I ever imagined, and I do not know whether that makes me safer or more endangered than I have ever been.
We descend into the depths of the Society, through corridors that grow progressively more private until we reach a room where men in expensive suits sit around a table covered in artwork that makes my breath catch in my throat.
I recognize one of the pieces immediately, a Monet that went missing from a private collection three years ago. The theft made international headlines and was never solved.
And here it is, being sold by my husband to men whose faces I do not recognize but whose presence radiates the kind of power that makes empires rise and fall.
"Gentlemen," Rafael says, settling into a chair and pulling me down beside him like my presence at this table is the most natural thing in the world. "I believe we have business to discuss."
The deal unfolds around me in a language of numbers and percentages and coded references that I only partially understand, but what I do understand is this: Rafael Milano is not a thief. He is something far more dangerous. He is the man who connects thieves to buyers, who moves priceless art through underground channels with the efficiency of a Fortune 500 company, who takes his cut from both sides and buildshis empire on the bones of transactions that never officially happened.
One hundred and forty million dollars changes hands in the span of an hour, and Rafael conducts the entire affair with the casual confidence of a man ordering lunch.
When the artwork has been claimed and the buyers have disappeared into the Louisiana night, Rafael turns to me with an expression I cannot read.
Men of a different caliber enter the underground room and these men look like they crack skulls and never bother asking for names. Biker boots, jeans and T-shirts or Henleys stretch over massive muscles. Some have long hair or short, but what catches my eye most are the leather vests they are wearing and the patches.
Bikers? Here?
“Persia, meet my friends. Savage boys, meet my wife.”
Five hands reach for mine at the same time and I get a fast introduction.
Reaper. He’s the president of the crew and doesn’t seem to smile much. He also smells like baby powder.
Then there’s Venom, Storm, Ash and Beast. The last one resembles his name sake.
“Nice to meet you, but I have to say, I’m a little confused.” I look to Rafael and then to the strange men. They don’t feel threatening, but the eight-by-eight room is feeling tight and overly heated with so much body heat.
Rafael takes my hand and sits me down opposite him at the table in the middle of the room.
"There is something else I need to discuss with you, little dove." He brings my hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to my knuckles that feels more like preparation for something I am not going to like, rather than affection. "Something about your father."
My stomach drops. "Are you sure this is the right time to talk about my father?"
"Yes." His grip tightens almost imperceptibly. "I need you to hear this. I need you to know who I am and to see the side of your father that he hid from you and your mother."
He signals to Massimo, who produces a thick folder and slides it across the table toward me with the careful precision of a man handling explosives.
I stare at it without touching it, my heart hammering against my ribs hard enough to bruise. "What is this?"
"The truth." Rafael's voice is soft but carries a weight that makes my skin prickle with dread. "The reason I was able to convince your father to sign that contract is right here. This is the reason he did not fight harder to keep you and is the reason Magnus Sterling thought he could buy you in the first place. They both knew the depths of my knowledge concerning their nefarious activities, even if I didn’t reveal the darker elements."
He taps the folder. “Open it.”
My hands tremble as I peel back the beige cover.
The first photograph steals the breath from my lungs.
It is my father, but not the father I know. Not the governor with the polished smile and the pressed suits and the round spectacles that catch the light and make him look like a man you can trust.
