Page 4 of Blind Devotion
I couldn’t give a rat’s ass what ornery faces I left behind in my wake. My chest constricted, and my head swam with the need to leave. I needed space.
“It would not hurt for you to speak to some of them,” Maman side-whispered to me after I rebutted an advance from the interior minister’s daughter.
Océane De Villier watched the girl go with almost a wistful expression in her eyes.
I snorted my disagreement, my face frozen in welcome serenity, while the sharks circled. Politicians and business associates stood among the invitees and guards, waiting for one misstep on my part, one weakness to scent like blood in the water.
They observed, always letting their fear of who I was, who my family was, make them into docile little kittens at my service. But kittens grew up. Their teeth grew, and their claws sharpened. Their independence emerged, and if control wasn’t grasped with an iron fist, they turned on the hand that fed them. I was that iron fist, molded by circumstance and stronger for it—the calm in the storm—and I’d be damned if that changed.
“You know, your father and I were already married at your age.”
“Yes, I am aware.” Painfully so, many times over.
My parents never were the shy type to keep their sentiments for each other contained despite our family’s less-than-savory businesses. She and my father were married when she was eighteen, pregnant months later with twins. She fully believed all her children needed to follow in her footsteps. There was little I would not do for my family and businesses, but after the spectacular failure of the marriage contract with the Iannellis, an arranged marriage was firmly on that list.
“Then why don’t you—”
“Virtus omnia vincit.” Strength conquers all—the family motto. “I do not need a companion for that.”
“That is naïve,mon chéri.”
“Let it go, Maman,” Thibault chimed in. “You would sooner have a chance at convincing a fish than Adrien. I, for one, keep seeing the amuse-bouches from the cocktail buffet go by without tasting a single one, and if I don’t inhale a few soon, this party is going to get a lot bloodier than planned. Come with me?”
“Very well. At least one of my sons knows how to enjoy himself.”
Thibault, the dutiful son, held out his arm for her, glancing back at me with a smirk. He mouthed “You owe me” like the little turd he was. Within a few steps, the two of them were swept away by the crowd through the yacht’s salon and lounge.
A shaky sigh of relief escaped me. I threw another glance at the party, my lips pinched together. No one seemed to have noticed. Good.
Nothing stood out. Nothing to cause a stir or a thrill to cut through the monotony of people in designer wear and gleaming jewels. The same boring topics discussed day in and day out on their lips. Nothing dangerous or challenging.
I ducked out for some air. Leaning on the yacht rail, I stared out at the Mediterranean Sea.
The sunlight gleamed off it, a circular reflection of the fiery inferno bouncing among the gentle wash of short waves. With the southeastern coast of Sardinia to the other side of the boat, my view of the blistering blue sea was unencumbered. It stretched for kilometers on end, peaceful and yet deadly at the same time, the perfect juxtaposition.
“Something got you lost in thought?” Erel asked as he leaned against the rail beside me, two glasses in hand. His checkered suit jacket really was an eyesore. “Drink?”
I accepted the offered glass, the smell of pastis—anise liquor —and mint flavoring tickling my nose. I downed a swig, relishing the burn that only grew stronger after a deep breath.
Erel took my silence for what it was and didn’t press further. The ability to read people was what made him such a valuable friend. He was also my second-in-command and co-owner of our joint business endeavor, Endgame—a virtual reality arena that served as a front for our hitman organization.
People saw his sharp jawline, blond hair with dark tips, and blue eyes before his charm ever sucked them in. He barely had to say an entire sentence before clients were eating out of the palm of his hand.
“I heard something interesting the other day,” Erel said in a tone meant to pull me into conversation.
I took another sip of my drink and stared out at the sea.
“Oh, come on. You’re not even curious?”
“It’s not the time or the place, Erel,” I said with exasperation. Childhood friend or not, I was in no mood for his games.
“Not even to hear about the Iannellis?”
My hand tightened instinctively around the wooden railing. Erel chuckled.
“You couldn’t be more obvious.”
“You’re a real bastard, you know that?”
