Page 43 of The Saint

Adrien didn’t push back. “What do you want, Bastien?”

“I don’t want anything. But I spoke to Marcus and the Aristocrats yesterday, and they want your head on a fucking platter. They told me not to intervene, but Fleur asked me to warn you. And what my woman says goes. So, consider yourself warned.”

“I didn’t kill Oscar.”

“They don’t care, Adrien. He would still be alive right now if you’d just given in to their demands.”

“Why do I have to change my business model just because they think they own all of French heritage?”

“It’s pretty rich of you to condemn their ideologies when you’re a thief who steals art history from your own people.”

“I’m Italian, not French.”

“And I think that pisses them off even more, asshole.”

He sighed his frustration into the phone.

“You’ve got two options. Give them what they want and disappear. They won’t hunt you long if they have what they want. They’ll give up after a couple weeks. Or hit them before they hit you. But that would be the stupid choice, because you don’t have the manpower, and I’m not helping you with this.”

“I didn’t ask for your help, Bastien.”

“You’re right. Because if you did, you wouldn’t be in this position in the first place, like a dumbass.”

Adrien stayed quiet.

I waited for him to say he was going to run for it, but he didn’t. I should just hang up and leave him to his problems, but I stayed on the phone out of some ridiculous obligation to the woman who didn’t love him anymore. “Adrien.”

“What?”

“Jesus Christ, why are you so fucking stubborn?”

“Because it’s bullshit. They think they own everything because of some pure bloodline. It’s insanity.”

“I think they’re a bunch of weirdos too, but they’re powerful and well-connected weirdos who won’t hesitate to feed your body to the cannibals in the caverns, alright? It is what it is. You have enough money to retire, start over somewhere on a beach with a warm pussy on your lap. Do not get yourself killed over this.”

“You don’t understand?—”

“Adrien. I need to make this abundantly fucking clear—I will not come for you. Fleur will not ask me to come for you. You’re on your own.”

He was quiet over the line.

I’d done my best to make him see reason, to value his life over his pride, and I couldn’t do much more. “Good luck, Adrien.”

10

FLEUR

I got into the back of the SUV, and the driver took me away from the gates. I was in a black dress and heels with my buttoned-up coat on top. Bastien had asked me to meet him and the boys because they’d decided to go out for a couple of drinks.

I assumed they drank all the time and wasn’t sure why Bastien would even want me there, but he didn’t ask if I wanted to go—just told me it was happening.

Ten minutes later, the SUV pulled up to the bar, which was packed with people I could see through the window. I walked inside, the sound of music hitting my ears and the cigarette smoke hitting my nose.

The hostess took my coat, and then I looked across the bar.

Bastien stuck out, not like a sore thumb, but like the hottest guy in the world. He sat in a big round booth that fit at least twenty people, girls on men’s laps, all of them smoking and drinking. Bastien was in the middle, like he was the center of attention, and he looked so hot just sitting there with his arm over the back of the booth, talking to one of the guys without seeming to careabout all the gorgeous women around him with their tits nearly popping out.

I headed over, moving through the crowd of people standing near the bar and the full tables.

---