Page 68 of The Devil

“Not yet,” Severin says.

“Jet didn’t get to eat dinner last night so I’m sure he’s hungry. We were interrupted by your call,” I say to Severin with a saccharine smile.

Severin just smiles casually and picks up his coffee.

“I’m glad you two got to meet formally, finally,” Jet says.

“I bet,” Severin and I say in unison.

“I was just filling Sev in on our activities of last night.”

Silence falls as the brothers study one another, smiling only whenever they turn to me. It’s awkward.

“How was your flight?” I ask Severin.

“Uneventful.”

I pick up a scone which is in a basket at the center of the table and pick off a piece. Not bothering with jam or butter, I pop it into my mouth and chew while continuing to scan the menu.

The silence extends.

A few moments later, a waiter arrives. I’m confused when, rather than taking our order, he sets three plates before us each steaming with a full Scottish breakfast that smells amazing.

“Wrong table. We haven’t ordered yet,” Jet says.

The waiter assures us he has the right table and quickly walks away.

Severin’s gaze falls to the restaurant’s entrance. His body visibly tenses and Jet, seeing this, turns.

“Fuck.”

“What’s going on?” I ask.

Before either of them answers, before anyone gets another word in, the hostess arrives at our table and clears her throat. She appears anxious as she glances around the restaurant.

“Mr. Blackstone, Mr. Blackstone,” she says, addressing the brothers. She’s carrying a silver tray that she lowers, and I see on it is a black envelope of heavy stock sealed with blood red wax. Three letters are embossed onto it.

I V I

“This came for you. I was instructed to tell you it was urgent.”

I watch the brothers, see how Severin’s face tenses, a line forming between his brows. Jet grits his jaw. He reaches for the envelope before Severin can. He doesn’t bother thanking the hostess who looks like she can’t wait to get away from us. He breaks the seal and reads the letter. From what I can see, it’s brief and written by hand in a pretty, old-fashioned calligraphy.

He holds the letter out to his brother. Severin takes it from him and scans it, his eyes narrowing. The brother’s look at each other.

“No,” Jet says.

“What?” I ask.

“Car’s outside,” Severin says, eyes on Jet.

“I said no,” Jet repeats.

“What?” I ask more urgently and when neither answer, I snatch the letter and read it. It’s just a few lines, the tone formal, not unfriendly. Definitely not leaving room for refusal.

Dear Mr. Blackstone, Mr. Blackstone and Ms. Lombardi,

Transportation has been arranged to escort you to the Isle of Elysium. Your belongings are being gathered and will be delivered to your accommodations upon arrival at the estate.