His smile widens, becoming something beatific and unnerving. He places a hand over his own chest, right where the new heart beats behind a lattice of scars. “But I am not alone, Antonio. How could I be? My beautiful Ines has returned to me. She is here. She watches over my recovery.”
The world tilts, just for a second.
The heat of the sun suddenly feels cold.
Is this madness?A side effect of the immunosuppressants, the trauma of the surgery? Or is it something more calculated?
With Konstantine, the line between insanity and strategy is often invisible but I didn’t imagine that scream, nor did I imagine that silhouette.
“I… see,” I say, trying to sound reassuring.
“Come,” he gestures towards a shaded table overlooking the sea. “Let us sit. The tea is already here.”
We all settle into deep wicker chairs as a servant pours jasmine tea into delicate bone china cups. The ordinariness of the ritual is surreal, considering nothing else about either of us is ordinary.
“The elections in France,” Konstantine begins, sipping his tea. “Our candidate is slipping in the polls. Those leaked emails were ineptly handled.”
“The leak was contained,” I reply, my voice finding its familiar, efficient cadence. “The narrative has been redirected towards the whistleblower’s past affiliations. A smear campaign is already underway, which is far more effective than denial. He will be a non-entity by the end of the week, and our man’s numbers are already recovering.”
“Good.” He nods slowly. “And the situation in Kavaria?”
“The war proceeds as planned. The rebel faction we funded has taken the southern capital. The president is apparently planning to flee to a neighbouring country, though his plane may unfortunately experience some mechanical malfunction over the mountains. The new regime will be deeply in our debt. The mineral rights will be ours before the first anniversary of their ‘revolution’.”
Konstantine listens, his gaze on the horizon. He looks like a retired philosopher king, contemplating bigger things.
“And the flow of arms from the northern border?” he asks.
“Stable. Logistically complex, but stable. We are using the old Ottoman routes. The payments are being laundered through a series of shell corporations in Dubai and Macau. It’s all untraceable.”
He turns his pale eyes on me. “You have been diligent, Antonio. Exceptionally so. The Brethren would be adrift without your hand holding us steady. I, personally, would be lost.”
I incline my head, a gesture of humility that is as much a part of my uniform as my tailored suit. “I serve the Brethren, Konstantine. As we all do. There is no need for accolades.”
It is the right thing to say. The expected thing, and it is true.
I don’t need his praise,
I need his power, his structure.
I need the machine he commands, for my own purposes are woven too deeply into its wiring to be extracted now. The day I turned tail, the day I chose Konstantine’s family over the Esau was the day I tied my soul into this bargain. There is no going back now, no turning around. We either win or die together.
We continue for another hour, dissecting the world’s troubles and orchestrating solutions that benefit only us. He is sharp, incisive, his mind seemingly untouched by the phantom that haunts his house. It is the most dangerous kind of madness: one that leaves the intellect perfectly intact while the soul curdles.
Finally, the business is concluded. I finish my tea, now cold, and place the cup on the silver tray. “If that is all, you should rest.”
“There is one small matter.” he says, his voice softening into something that feels infinitely more threatening than his commands. “The Ratcliffe girl. How is she?”
The question, coming from him, is a needle inserted directly into a nerve. My face remains a placid mask. “She is well.”
“Is she behaving? Is she playing the part you wanted for her?”
He asks it like a connoisseur inquiring about a rare acquisition, but we both know the truth of what he is really asking. Is Grace a threat? Has she been neutralised enough that even the continual danger of the Esau is no issue?
“Conditioning takes time,” I say, choosing my words with the care of a bomb disposal expert. “She is resistant, wilful, but she is also intelligent. She is understanding the benefits of compliance, and is doing well.”
He smiles a small, secretive smile, looking not at me but at some private thought. “I would like to meet this girl. This diamond you are cutting under such pressure.”
I pause at those words. To let my pet near Konstantine, especially considering she is still a half-formed thing is one hell of a risk to take, but to deny him is impossible.
