Page 40 of The Kings
“Good,” he murmurs, thumbing through the pages, each one a nail in Scott’s coffin.
After a few minutes that felt like aeons, the corners of Dad’s mouth twitch upward, that rare grin slicing through the tension in the room like a blade. “Impressive work,” he says, his voice the kind of low rumble that commands silence from the rest of the world.
“Thanks,” I shoot back, keeping my tone even while inside, I’m all champagne bubbles and victory dances. This is what I live for—the nod of approval from the man who wrote the book on being ruthless.
He leans back in his chair, the leather creaking under his weight, his eyes not leaving mine. “Resourceful as ever, Eliza. You’ve outdone yourself.”
I can’t help it; pride swells in my chest, big and warm and undeniable. I sit up straighter, feeling every inch the heir to the Hughes’ throne, every bit the badass boss lady I’m bred to be. “It’s what we do, isn’t it? Exceed expectations.”
“Indeed.” His voice has that edge of steel again, the one that tells me he’s not just blowing smoke. I’ve earned this. Earned his respect with my own two hands.
Dad flicks the folder closed, a soft thud against the mahogany desk as he reclines into his chair with the ease of a king on his throne.
“Elizabeth,” he begins, his voice laced with that familiar blend of warmth and razor-sharp intent that’s defined my upbringing. This is Daddy/Daughter time now he’s called me by my name. His gaze eventually flicks over the Carver twins at my back, but then bores into mine as he ignores them again. “You have formed an alliance?”
“Yes.” He doesn’t need to know why or how, not yet anyway.
“Smart girl,” he nods, a glint of approval in his eyes. “It’s rare to find that kind of allegiance these days.”
I lean back, mirroring his posture, knowing it’s not just about the physical presence but what it represents—power, control, an unbreakable bond forged in the fires of ambition and necessity. “Trust me, I know. You taught me well.”
“Trust,” he echoes, and there’s a weight to the word, a gravity that pulls at the edges of our conversation. “It’s the foundation,Elizabeth. Without it, everything crumbles. Especially in our line of work.”
“Understood,” I reply, my voice low and steady. In this life, trust isn’t given; it’s earned with blood, sweat, and a relentless drive to rise above the dirt we were born into.
“Keep them close,” he advises, and it’s not a suggestion—it’s a command.
“I will,” I say, my voice ringing with the clarity of a vow.
“Last night, you did more than just pull off a heist. You’ve become a force to be reckoned with—a Queen among pawns.”
“Thanks,” I murmur, heat warming my cheeks.
“Go,” Dad says with a nod, the single word echoing like a gavel in the courtroom of his study.
I rise, smooth as the blade hidden beneath my dress. With my head held high and a fire kindling in my soul, I step out of my father’s office with Raph and Tarq behind me.
“Raphael.”
My dad’s voice stops us all in our tracks.
I catch Raph’s eye, and he raises an eyebrow before his expression goes blank when he turns around to face my dad. “Yes, sir?”
“A word. Alone.”
Raph steps forward and closes the door in our faces before I have a chance to protest.
Great. Just great.
21
RAPHAEL
Turningfrom the closed door of Damon Hughes’s office, Eliza’s emerald gaze lingering in my mind, sharp and questioning, I push her aside for now. If this is about the other week where I fucked his daughter in his room, I’m not walking out of here.
But the fact is, I don’t care.
It was worth it.
