Page 66 of Ruthless God

Her frown deepens. “The entire Brotherhood? I thought it was just the Elite Members. Why would he be after all of them?”

“Nearly a year ago, someone started killing off the old Elite Members. Said things needed to change. So far, the new Elite Members have done a good job fostering that change. But I’m sure this prick is just waiting for them to fail, too.”

She hesitates, digesting the information. “Why would they fail?”

“They always do.” My gaze drifts, pulled to the portrait above the fireplace. The familiar unforgiving eyes staring down at me. A reminder. A warning. A curse. “Whether they mean to or not.”

She follows my gaze, taking in the man in the painting.

“Your father was an Elite Member?” Her voice is cautious now, like she knows she’s stepping into dangerous territory. “What happened to him?”

I let the words settle between us, heavy and immovable.

Then, finally, I meet her eyes.

“He was murdered.” A pause. “By your father.”

I expect her to break down. Maybe even try to deny my words.

Instead, she leans back in her chair, exhales slowly, and says, “Well, I think this is making some of the puzzle pieces come together.”

I narrow my eyes. Not the reaction I expected.

“Meaning?”

She taps the folder, fingers still slightly tense, but there’s a sharpness in her gaze now. A calculation that wasn’t there before…

“My sperm donor killed your dad. It would give Gabriel a pretty damn good reason to want to return the favor.” She tilts her head slightly, studying me. “You, too. Though… you might not have been sad when your dad died.” She pauses, eyes flicking over my face, reading me. “Were you?”

The air between us tightens, a slow, suffocating pull.

I don’t flinch. I don’t react. But for the first time, I wonder if she’s more dangerous than I thought. Because she’s starting to see me too clearly. And that’s a problem.

“Well?”

“I wasn’t sad when he died.” The words come easily, without hesitation. “And, for the last time, Gabrielisdead.”

Her eyes narrow. “You said you saw him die?”

She’s testing me. I lean forward, mirroring her intensity.

“I said I pushed him to his death.”

She doesn’t blink. Doesn’t look away. Instead, she asks, “Why?”

“What do you mean, why?”

She tilts her head slightly, like she’s waiting for something to click into place.

“Well, every killer has a motive.” Her voice is steady, deliberate. “What was yours?”

A slow, sharp heat coils in my chest.

“You watch too much TV.”

Her lips curve slightly. “Maybe. So?”

I reach for my cigar, rolling it between my fingers before taking a slow, measured puff. The smoke curls into the air, thick and deliberate, buying me a second before I answer.

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