Victoria doesn’t argue. She just watches me in the mirror, like she’s already counting the cost.
I’m so stupid. I should have known better.
A stabbing pain emanates from my core.
Someone enters the room. I nearly don’t catch the word “surgery.”
Surgery? Where?
I’m trying to say that I don’t want surgery when someone grabs my hand.
“Catherine, darling, we have a surgeon on the way, okay?” It’s Dad. “You’re going to be okay. Who did this to you? Tell me, honey. Was it Junior?”
He thinks Junior did this to me?
I knew Sophie hadn’t told him, but surely now she’d have to admit what she did. Right? Whattheydid…
I try to find my voice. It’s so hard.
“Troy. Magnus Troy. He and Sophie…”
My dad’s eyes go wide, his face pales, but he doesn’t speak.
Dad, did you hear me?
As he looks at me, I know he doesn’t want to believe me. I know he’s ready to tell me I’m lying. He’s battling what he knows to be true against what he wishes was not true. He’s never been overly affectionate with us. Not like dads we see on TV, but he’s always cared, been kind—not at all what you’d expect from a monster.
I’ve come to learn he’s dangerous in other ways. Quiet, dark ways that shouldn’t exist.
“The blonde hair,” he says with a menacing expression.
My chin wobbles as I tilt it to confirm.
He stands and paces the room, before leaving altogether without a word.
Drained of energy, my eyes fall shut as my world fades to black.
ONE
spark
Enzo
Present, Thursday Evening, Day 1
Ihate this side of town—too clean, too smug—but if you want to make real money in DC, you drink with the politicians who sell their souls by the glass. And if you want to control and launder all the illegal money that gets funneled to their pockets, you own the bar where those politicians like to let loose.
I step out from the back room of The Vault, the bar my family has owned for generations, just two blocks from 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue. I lock eyes with Niko, my head of security, and give him a nod to let him know I’m ready. He’ll radio my driver, Luca.
I navigate the polished chaos of the main room with purpose, weaving between booths, clinking crystal, and whispered conversations. I stride past women and men who pretend not to notice me, but the low light on the dark mahogany tables doesn’t hidethe eyes that follow as I pass. At six feet and three inches tall, I’m hard to miss.
I catch sight of bright red hair and stop in my tracks.
All the senses on my body ignite. I turn slowly to face the stunning redhead sitting at the bar.
Who is she?I’ve never seen her here. She certainly looks like a DC type. She’s wearing a jade green jumpsuit that looks like it belongs on a red carpet, not a bar stool. Even from here, I can see that her outfit makes her eyes pop. She exudes power, confidence, and sex appeal.
Is that Speaker Max McCarter she’s sitting with?That piques my interest.
