Page 113 of Modern Romance Collection December 2024 Books 1-4

“‘I, Lucifer Drakos, being of sound mind and body, declare this to be my final will and testament.’”

She starts with Rafe. Aside from inheriting thirty-five percent of Lucifer’s shares in Drakos Development, he receives several luxury properties, a substantial monetary inheritance and—oddly—the contents of the library from the villa on Santorini. Our father also includes an edict that Rafe retain his position as head of the European and Asian divisions of Drakos Development.

Something tightens in my chest. He being granted his job in the will is a good sign for me.

But not a guarantee.

Hatred twists in my stomach. I’m fully aware that the last ten years of my life are hanging on the whim of a dying old man who cared only for himself and his bank account.

When Alessandra reads off similar conditions for me, including my keeping my position over the North American offices, the band that’s been wrapped around my heart for the past twenty-four years since I learned who my father was loosens. Even Lucifer’s death didn’t alleviate the tension I’ve lived with since I was eight years old, standing in the midst of a wealth I couldn’t comprehend as a man I’d never met stared down at the child he’d never wanted with disgust.

It’s done.

I have my share of Drakos Development.

After Alessandra reads that Michail is inheriting the remaining thirty percent of Lucifer’s shares, a couple of American properties and something about a bequest for Michail’s mother, I stop paying attention as I mentally review the upcoming months. Some would find my anticipation of the next steps in my life odd, even inappropriate, in the wake of my father’s death. But they wouldn’t understand the sense of peace that fills me. The power I now have to make decisions without wondering if it could all be yanked away at any given moment. Now, when I think of my schedule, it’s with confidence, excitement. The press conference tomorrow in Malibu to announce the latest West Coast projects. The evaluation of the Mississippi River warehouse development. Then, a meeting in Paris with the board of directors in three weeks.

And after that, I think with a smile, a long weekend. Two or three days in Italy with a woman would be the perfect way to celebrate—

“‘As to the conditions...’”

I snap back to the present moment and sit up.

“Conditions?” I repeat.

The vise winds itself back around my chest and tightens until it traps my breath in my lungs. Alessandra looks at me with a glance I can only interpret as apologetic before she resumes reading.

“‘I have learned, too late, the value of family. Of legacy. Which is why Rafael, Gavriil, and Michail must marry within one year of the reading of this will and stay married for at least one year, or forfeit everything I have bequeathed to them.’”

CHAPTER TWO

Juliette

Two days later

MYMOMTOOKme to a butterfly garden when I was four. The summer before she died. When we walked into the outdoor mesh tent, a swarm of butterflies flew up and around us. Their bodies brushed my skin, their wings soft, their movements frantic.

As I watch people filter into the ballroom, I can feel that same movement now, except it’s in my stomach. A flutter of anticipation and determination, underlined with a sharp sliver of doubt.

Anticipation for facing a Drakos once more. Determination to follow through on what might be my last chance to take back my family’s legacy.

And doubt. Doubt that’s been plaguing me ever since Texas. That’s where it first started. I had hesitated in a moment that mattered more than anything else had in my life. Where I came face-to-face with the fact that we are all capable of being monsters.

An ugly, sluggish sensation fills me, drags me down. That doubt has only grown, chipping away at the motivation that had driven my career ever since my first exposé. When I learned of Lucifer’s impending death, my determination dimmed even further, leaving me adrift. That the man I hated more than anything in the world had been part of the foundation of my professional life was a cold truth I hadn’t been prepared to confront.

Stop.I’ll address my own hang-ups later. Right now, my mission isn’t just making sure Lucifer Drakos’s cruelty stopped with his death. No, it’s a chance to reclaim what he stole from my family fourteen years ago. To give back something to a woman who carved out a piece of heaven for me to live and thrive in even as my life fell apart. Lucifer’s death has put that possibility within reach.

If Lucifer’s sons and heirs are following in his footsteps and I just happen to uncover another story in the process of achieving my own goals, so be it.

People start filtering into the ballroom. I lean against a pillar, watching, mentally cataloging those in attendance. My initial plan had simply been to observe Gavriil Drakos’s press conference, to hear if any of his future plans for the North American division included a certain section of coastline in Washington State.

Specifically, my family’s home that Lucifer stole for pennies on the dollar from my reckless father.

The worst part is that, in the years since Lucifer bought Grey House, he visited it once. I saw him arrive in a limo with a tiny blonde woman on his arm. They walked around the property. The wind carried her voice down the hill to where I spied on them from the bushes. I couldn’t hear everything, but I heard enough. She wanted a house on the coast, yes, but not in a backwater town that only had two coffee shops and a scattering of restaurants. Never mind that people traveled from all over the world to the peace and quiet elegance of Rêve Beach, or that two of those restaurants had won national awards. All she’d seen was the lack of glitter and, like so many who lived privileged lives, turned her back before she’d truly looked.

I never saw Lucifer at Grey House again. The house was repaired. I watched the new roof being put on, the exterior being sanded and painted.

And then it sat. Empty, lonely, taunting as my father and I squeezed into the tiny gamekeeper’s cottage left over from the early days when Grey House had hundreds of acres and a staff that included a butler and a head housekeeper. I watched my father stand at the fence that marks the line between cottage and mansion day after day, pining for what he had lost. His wife. His business. The second woman who loved him even when he couldn’t love himself.

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