Page 70 of Temptation and Tyranny

“Hello, Allegra,” he said, his voice carrying that familiar mix of authority and condescension that made me feel like I was six years old again. “It’s nice to see you again, and so soon.”

“What do you want?” I spat, pulling against my restraints. The zip ties bit deeper into my wrists, but I welcomed the pain. It helped me focus, helped keep the old fears at bay. I wasn’t that scared little girl anymore.

He moved closer, his expensive cologne filling my nostrils—the same scent that had haunted my nightmares for years. Every time I caught a whiff of it on a passing stranger, I’d have to fight the urge to run.

“Is that any way to greet your father?” He clicked his tongue disapprovingly, just as he used to do when I failed to meet his exacting standards at dinner parties. “Your mother would be so disappointed in your manners.”

The mention of my mother sparked somethingfierce inside me. “You lost the right to speak of mother years ago.”

His hand shot out, gripping my chin painfully, fingers pressing into the soft spots beneath my jaw. “Mind your tone, Allegra. You’re not in a position to be defiant.” His thumb brushed my cheek in a parody of affection. “You always were too much like her. Too stubborn for your own good.”

I jerked away from his touch, my skin crawling. “Why now? After all these years, why come after me now? Why not let me continue to live in peace, away from you?” But even as I asked, I knew.

Cooper. It all came back to Cooper.

“Because you’ve gotten yourself involved with a very dangerous man.” His voice softened, taking on that paternalistic tone I remembered from childhood—the one that always preceded something terrible. The voice he’d used to explain why my mother wasn’t coming home, why everything he did was for my own good. “Cooper Moreau is not who you think he is.”

A bitter laugh escaped me. “And you are? The caring father, looking out for his daughter’s welfare?” I met his gaze steadily. “I know exactly who Cooper is. Just as I know exactly who you are.”

“You know nothing,” he snapped, a flash of genuine anger breaking through his controlled mannerisms. Then, composing himself with visible effort, he straightened his tie—a nervous tell I remembered from childhood. “But that’s beside the point. You’re going to help me, Allegra. Whether you want to or not.”

“I won’t help you hurt Cooper.” The words came out stronger than I felt, fueled by the memory ofCooper’s gentle hands, his quiet strength, the way he looked at me like I was something precious rather than something to be controlled.

My father’s smile turned cold, reminding me of a documentary I’d once seen about sharks. “Oh, but you will. You see, Mr. Moreau has become a thorn in my side. He’s ambitious, I’ll give him that. But he’s overreaching, stepping into territories that don’t belong to him. He needs to be...reined in.”

“And you’re using me as bait,” I said, the realization hitting me like a punch to the gut. The nausea returned, stronger now. How many times had I fought with Cooper about being too protective, and insisted he moved his security away from the clinic? My stubborn independence had given my father the opening he needed.

“Bait is such an ugly word,” my father replied, waving a hand dismissively. The light caught his signet ring—the one he’d used to leave marks on his victims—his own personal calling card. “Let’s call it...leverage. And you’re not the only leverage I have. How is his father doing these days? The one in that expensive care facility?”

Ice flooded my veins. “You wouldn’t...”

“Wouldn’t I?” His grip returned to my chin, forcing me to look at him. The fake warmth was gone now, replaced by the cold calculation I remembered from my childhood. “You know what I’m capable of, Allegra. Don’t test me. Your mother tested me, and well...” He let the sentence hang, a reminder of wounds that had never really healed.

Tears sprung from my eyes, a mixture of fear and rage. For myself, for Cooper, for his father, formy mother—for everyone my father had ever used as pawns in his games of power. “What do you want me to do?”

My father released me, straightening his suit jacket as if nothing had happened. As if he hadn’t just threatened to kill an innocent old man. As if he hadn’t destroyed every scrap of love I’d ever felt for him years ago. “For now, just sit tight. Your part will come soon enough.” He nodded to someone behind me. “Make my daughter comfortable. We’re expecting company.”

I felt a sharp prick in my arm, and warmth began spreading through my veins. As my vision started to blur, I thought of Cooper. I had to warn him somehow, had to let him know this was a trap. But even as I fought against the drugs pulling me under, I knew it was useless. My father never left anything to chance.

The last thing I saw before darkness claimed me was his face, watching me with that same detached interest he’d shown when I was a child, crying from a punishment he claimed was for my own good. Some things never changed.

But I had changed. And if my father thought I was still that scared little girl who would bend to his will, he was in for a surprise. If I could just hold on long enough...

The thought fractured as consciousness slipped away, leaving only darkness and the lingering scent of that damned cologne.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Cooper

The annoying buzzing of my phone jolted me awake. I’d recently taken to falling asleep at my desk in the warehouse. I now spent most evenings with Allegra, but then grudgingly left her asleep in bed in the early hours of the morning. Every second I wasn’t with her, I was here at the warehouse. I shook myself awake, trying to orient myself.

An unknown number. In my line of work, unexpected calls never brought good news. My blood ran cold as I answered. “Who is this?”

“Mr. Moreau,” a familiar voice purred through the speaker. “I trust I haven’t caught you at an inconvenient time?”

I sat up straighter, instantly alert. Laurent Rousseau. At the Saint-Antoine Hospital Gala, he’d warned me that he was watching me, but my own arrogance made me think that I could handle whatever he threw at me.

“Rousseau,” I said carefully. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

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