Page 97 of Fire and Silk
I take two steps forward, slow and deliberate.
“I know about Lira Falco,” I say. “I know she’s your father’s heir. I know the bond names her as a bloodline inheritor, and I know she didn’t even know that until recently.”
Neither of them interrupts.
“I can make her renounce the inheritance,” I continue. “I can get her out. Far out. She won’t be anyone’s pawn. Not yours. Not his.”
There’s a silence.
Then Mina chuckles. It’s soft. Almost pleasant.
“You have spirit,” she says, brushing a hand along the seam of her skirt. “But my little brother? He’s the spawn of the devil himself. You think he’s going to sit quietly while you untangle the chain around his neck?”
“I don’t plan to ask,” I answer. “What if I can deliver him to you? What if I get rid of him, too?”
Maksim’s laugh is sudden and sharp. He leans forward and waves a lazy hand toward the hall.
“Get this one out of my house.”
But I’m already reaching into my jacket. I don’t rush. I pull the leather badge case from the inside pocket and flip it open.
Tactical Warfare Unit Seal. Honorable Discharge.
Maksim freezes.
Mina sets her teacup down, claps . The sound is crisp.
“I love this,” she says, rising from her seat with a kind of smooth delight. “You’ve got credentials. You’ve got rage. I’m intrigued.”
Something shifts behind me. I don’t turn.
From the archway, a shadow peels off the wall.
He’s lean, dressed in dark blue. No sound when he walks. Not a single creak on the floor. The eyes are the only familiar part.
It’s the second. The one who stood with Severo:
“You following me now?” I mutter without looking at him.
He doesn’t respond. Just stands there like a silent ledger.
Mina lifts a hand toward him.
“Don’t sulk,” she says. “This is a game.”
She turns back to me, smile sharp now. “Meet Matteo, Severo’s right-hand man and the man who is going to work with us to get rid of him.”
“Sit,” she says, gesturing to the low table in front of her. “And tell us your plan to get rid of my brother.”
Chapter Sixteen – Severo
Dantès Estate, Subterranean Council Chamber
The floor is black marble. Cold, even through my boots. The chamber holds no windows, just steel sconces and overhead grid lights, all wired into backup generators. Concrete thick enough to survive siege. This room has been here for four generations, rebuilt each time the house above it changed hands.
Every chair around the table is carved walnut. Twelve. Eleven of them are filled.
She sits at the twelfth.
