Page 92 of Santiago's Conquest (Four Dark Horsemen 1)

“Life wasn’t kind to you, amigo. Is this why they are taking you?”

He sits up straighter. “No, it wasn’t. What are you doing here?” he asks, curiosity coating his voice as if he can’t imagine someone rich ending up next to him.

So I answer, even though I hate every single word I utter. “I’m here because I’m Lucian Cortez’s son.”

He nods. “My name is Artem.”

I smile at this unusual name. “Ah, you are Russian?”

“My great-grandma was.”

“Glad to have your company, Artem,” I announce, truly meaning it, because no one knows what will happen next. Maybe we’ll never speak another word to one another, or maybe we’ll become allies who can try to get the fuck out of captivity.

But by his weak posture, I know he doesn’t have—as of now—the resolve to hold on. So acting on impulse, I drop next to him and whisper, “My dad once told me something.” He blinks several times at this, confused as fuck with my change of subject, but I finish my sentence, needing him to become a fighter and not a weakling who’ll break. “If you can’t beat the enemy, survive. Survive until you can beat it.”

We were destined to get out together.

What we didn’t know back then?

We needed to meet one more person before we could fulfill our destiny.

Briseis

I tug on the navy blue pencil dress barely reaching my knees, smoothing the invisible lines on the silk before squeezing my damp palms and taking a deep breath into my lungs, although it doesn’t calm my nerves.

In fact, it does the opposite.

My heartbeat speeds up, and I exhale heavily, resting my head on the window, not even paying attention to the view as we drive through Chicago to the outskirts of the city where the Cortez mansion is located. George smoothly navigates the vehicle while just the idea of this dinner gives me hives.

In my experience, all these dinners never end well, and I’ve had all the excitement I can stomach. Shouldn’t life give me a pause to catch my breath?

“Relax,” Santiago orders, steel lacing his tone, and I glance at him, annoyed with how possessively he sweeps his gaze over my form. “No one’s gonna hurt you there.”

“How can you be so sure? They must be livid.” And in a way, I understand them. I wouldn’t be thrilled if my son got married without telling me either.

However, rarely anyone blames their golden boy, so they will direct their fury at me while I’ll have to stand there like a doormat, listening to their crap.

He shrugs. “Probably. But they’re angry with me, not you. They’ll never take it out on you.” The confidence ringing in his words reassures me a little bit.

Santiago picks up an envelope between us, opens it, and takes out a phone, giving it to me.

Grabbing it, I swipe my thumb over the smooth screen, and he explains, “Your new phone. The other one was shit, no offense.” Yeah, I can imagine my five-year-old phone that’s done the job of texting and calling just fine probably seemed ancient to him. “Your SIM is inside already; just turn it on.”

I quickly press the button, oddly needing to have the connection to the outside world and not feel so secluded and alone in my situation.

Even if it’s just an illusion.

He’ll most likely track all my calls, so I can’t plot anything behind his back.

Generosity is a noble trait devils in this world are incapable of, because their every action is dictated by greed and what they can achieve with it.

At once, messages and missed phone calls start to pop up one after another, dinging soundly while I can barely keep up with them all.

And they all belong to one person.

My best friend.

I’m going to stop by later tonight. Sorry I couldn’t make it today.

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