Page 48 of The Prince of Hidden Shadows
Without waiting for an invitation, I pull out a chair, and Zagreus follows suit, setting down the custom-made crate. Volkoff’s eyes widen at the sight, then narrow as they land on the stranger to my right. If I weren’t sitting next to him, I’d think he wandered in by mistake. I would never fathom that he’s the painter behind the priceless artwork. He doesn’t ask. I don’t tell. We just wait.
Volkoff flicks a quick look at Zagreus, then returns his gaze to me. “Ah, Dolus,” he says with smooth ease. My lover casts a sideways glance when Volkoff uses my alias; I was so preoccupied with our plan that I forgot to warn Zagreus. “Punctual, as always. I trust you came prepared.”
Unsure whether he means my delivery or my sidekick, I jut my chin towards him in a silent challenge, asking who his goons are. He explains that one is an art expert, here to verify the painting’s authenticity, while the other will handle the final steps to secure the deal.
So be it.
Squaring my shoulders, I hold back my surprise that Volkoff hasn’t mentioned the stranger beside me. “I’m nothing if not reliable,” I reply with a faint smirk, my usual mask of confidence sliding into place.
“Reliable enough to pull off something extraordinary.” Volkoff leans forward, intertwined fingers on the table. So, that’s why nothing has been said about Zagreus—my feat silenced any doubts. “You’ve caught my interest. I’d love to hear how you managed it. Cameras, guards, all of it. How did you get it to vanish and go undetected until today’s delivery?”
I shift back in my chair, crossing one leg over the other. “Trade secret, Volkoff. You understand how this works.” Even my lover doesn’t have that info yet.
He huffs out a short laugh. “Trade secret? Come on, Dolus. Humor me. I couldn’t resist asking.”
Zagreus jumps in, cheerful as if we’re discussing the weather. “You want the details, sir? You hired Dolus for a reason—his reputation speaks volumes. He’s nimble as a cat, clever as a fox, and calm as a shadow.” Zagreus snorts, unimpressed by Volkoff and his crew. “Dolus runs on instinct—you ought to appreciate that.”
I suppress a smirk at Zagreus’s remark. Instinct drives me—after careful planning. That he glamored anyone who could have blocked our path, ensuring the painting slips from the U.S. to Monaco unseen? I’ll never admit it. My skill as a con artist is one thing; Z bending reality to clear obstacles is another.
Natasha’s steady gaze flickers to him, sizing him up like a puzzle she can’t quite solve. “And you are?”
“Oh, a fan of fine art,” Zagreus says, bowing his head with a playful toss of his curls. “Thrilled to be in such esteemed company, obviously.”
Her frown deepens. “Don’t you pride yourself on working solo, Dolus? Has something changed that Mr. Volkoff isn’t aware of?”
“Let the man speak, Natasha,” Volkoff cuts in—his voice icy and snappy—and unmoved by Zagreus’s humor.
“I’m Sonny.” I school my features to hide the grin tugging at my lips… Needless to say, no one here catches the reference, so headds, “I’ll be Dolus’s sidekick today—handling the money and guaranteeing his security, if necessary.”
My heart swells at his immediate grasp of the situation. Ignoring Natasha’s jab about how I work shows good sense. Had he been less driven by the need to save my soul, and if I were less adamant about working alone, we would have made a great team.
Natasha sizes him up with a pointed glance, contempt palpable.
Good luck trying to figure him out, Natasha!
How could she grasp that beneath this outdated suit lives a preternatural being—his home steeped in the darkness of men? A god who moves like one. Fights like one. Fucks like one… but I’m relieved she remains blind to it, especially the fucking part. I shove those thoughts to the side before snippets of our naked activities take the forefront. I clear my throat.
Eyes on the prize, Théo. Pleasure comes later, and I intend to savor it.
This uncharacteristic distraction tells me that Zagreus found his place inside my mind, body, and soul in a way that no one has before.
Damn, I’m such a goner. He must know it.
Volkoff’s attention snaps back to me, his voice pulling me back to reality. “And the piece? May we?”
I meet Zagreus’s unwavering smile, the crate between us heavy with meaning. “Before we reveal anything,” I say, voice casual, “let’s talk payment. Everything’s in order, I assume?”
Volkoff arches a brow, and the man to his right—whose name I’ve chosen to ignore—confirms, “You’ll be compensated as agreed. Swiss account. Discretion assured.” They realize it’s under an alias, but what do I care? I won’t sit there long.
As if inhaling Volkoff’s power, Natasha’s nostrils flare when she leans in, her nails tapping the edge of the chair. “Though we’ll need confirmation before that happens.”
Although I’m not prone to freaking out, my stomach is in knots as Zagreus finds my hand resting on my fidgeting thigh and places his hand on my wrist, a muted reassurance. “Of course,” he says to Volkoff.
I retrieve the painting from its confinement. Layers of protection surround the unframed masterpiece, guarding it from harm. Revealing it with deliberate care serves as its own reward.
Zagreus hums. “You have an eye for beautiful things,” he says, flicking a look at Natasha—beautiful, yes, though she wrinkles her nip/tucked nose at the last word. “Indulge my curiosity—what’s the first word that comes to mind when you picture this piece you’re so eager to have?” He pauses, voice dropping to a murmur. “If you don’t mind my asking.”
Volkoff frowns, his composure faltering. “I…” He cuts a glance towards Natasha, whose brows knit in confusion; curt tone, he still turns to her, and I can’t tell why. “It fascinates me. I can’t wait for it to be in my private collection—permanently—and sink into it…” He trails off, grimacing as if questioning why he divulged so much.
