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And safety only feeds desire. For the memory of Edwin’s mouth near my ear. The pressure of him holding me in place. The promise in his voice when he said I would pay with my body.

My thighs press together, chasing a dangerous kind of relief. Shame rises hot in my cheeks.

If Frank knew what I was imagining about one of the very men he called depraved, would he still look at me like someone worth saving?

If Evelyn knew that being warned about Edwin only made me ache for him more, would she still call me innocent?

I lie down and close my eyes. I remind myself I’m safe here. That I don’t really want him.

But none of it feels true.

CHAPTER 14

EDWIN

The hidden level beneath the hotel descends farther than anyone upstairs would suspect. An underworld carved out for men who value secrecy over sunlight. Long halls. Locked rooms. Histories buried in concrete and stone. No one sipping cocktails above us knows there are dozens of men gathered below their feet, waiting for something capable of splitting the ground open.

Reese stands beside me in the holding room, his mouth set in a hard line through his beard. He showed up for this in jeans and a black T-shirt. And he thinks I’m the one who doesn’t take Order business seriously. My dress shirt and slacks are worth more than his entire wardrobe.

He lifts an eyebrow when he catches me judging him.

“Are you ready for this?”

I take a long, deep breath. The concrete smells the same as it did when our father stood in this place awaiting his Ascension.

“I have no choice but to be ready.”

Dad hasn’t even been dead a full day. And already the Order is calling for change.

A new Sovereign.

Liam carried most of the work these past months while my father faded. The closest Councilman to the throne, closest friend to the dying man. He hides the strain, but I know him too well not to see it.

Tonight, I’m sure he’s relieved to be standing at the edge of power instead of beneath the weight of it.

The handbook lays it out plainly. The Crotavere line takes precedence unless someone challenges. It was never meant to be complicated. My father. His father. His father before him. The Order always knew who was next.

Until me.

Apparently, I failed to inspire the proper terror the way my family did. I can’t take it personally. Not when I’ve been absent for longer than I need to admit.

The door opens. One of the members gestures us inside.

Voices bounce off the stone, settling in the cylinder of the room. Men from all over the country came as soon as word spread. They stand beneath the earth in tailored suits and polished shoes, craving a spectacle. Any sign of weakness is an excuse to attack.

Patrick Connelly is off to one side with Michael Shaw, that loyal little strategist who opens wallets and back channels whenever Patrick needs funding. A pathetic man who thinks his loyalty matters. A flea hopping to the nearest body to suck.

Money is the Order’s proudest weapon. It buys silence, immunity, freedom. It bought Mr. Connelly his Attorney General seat, and now he stands in our chamber grinning as if he’s my equal.

Liam steps into the center, a single beam of light falling on him from above.

“Sovereign Harold Crotavere is dead,” he says, his voice echoing along the chamber’s curved walls. “Joining his Seraph, Vanessa. Despite the grief we face, our duty remains. We must elect a successor. The Crotavere lineage goes back three generations, with the fourth in line to take up the mantle. Edwin, come forward.”

I step closer and soak up the spotlight.

Every eye is on me. Men who watched me grow up, then fall apart. Men who think they can sniff out weakness like wolves track blood under snow.

The attention used to feel powerful. Tonight it’s more of an autopsy.