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He beamed like a lunatic at the four of us who stood around him in a semicircle, silently stunned and equally unimpressed.
I glared at him, feeling like I might do something extreme. Like telling my brother that my patience with him was wearing thin and I knew I had the support behind me to end his reign if necessary.
Raphael outranked me in age—by minutes—but not by loyalty or credence. Formal discussions of a coup had never come up, but I’d heard whispers from the old guard and my chosen brothers that if deemed necessary, the bedrock of one existed.
“Oh, wait ... Lucifer ... you didn’t think Willa—my fiancée—was the gift, now did you?”
Willa stepped defiantly into the space between me and Raphael. Even in heels, the top of her head only reached the center of his chest, but that didn’t stop her from staring him down. “Stop it. Do not do this, Raphael.”
The resolve in her sweet voice made every conscious man in the room freeze.
I loved her tenacity, and if I didn’t know what a grievous asshole my brother could be, I would have been cheering her on.
“Grifin—bring my fiancée a chair,” Raphael ordered. “Set it right in here—I want her to have a front-row seat. She’s the lady of the hour, after all.” Then he circled behind Willa, lifting the coat from her shoulders. “We wouldn’t want any blood splatter to end up on Máthair’s coat now, would we?”
Willa’s head snapped up, her wide eyes revealing genuine shock.
“Yes, darling, it is my mother’s mink coat,” Raphael drawled. He raised a threatening eyebrow as he took in Willa’s sequin dress. “Now take a seat before you force a repeat performance of tonight’s earlier show. I’m sure this crowd would love an encore.”
Her hostile scowl lost its effect when she wobbled on the heels of her ridiculous boots.
Willa slumped into the chair Grifin provided and crossed her arms. Goose bumps covered her neck and chest, but her cheeks weren’t tinged with their usual pink.
What had my brother already done to her tonight? And why the sudden malicious treatment of the woman he was practically drooling over a week ago?
Keegan, with Finn’s help, had manipulated the cameras and digital archives, removing the risk of anything damning, and I’d put the fear of my displeasure in any eyewitnesses.
It didn’t make any fucking sense.
Willa swept her bangs back and secured them behind her ear, using the gesture as an opportunity to steal a glance in my direction. Raphael was distracted with their coats and missed the subtle nod of reassurance I gave her. The glimmer of relief in her expression was exactly what I was going for. If Willa thought I was rattled, she’d believe she was completely fucked.
“Lucifer.” Raphael’s timbre held a current of peril. He stood behind Willa’s chair, his hands resting on either side of her neck.
For a fleeting moment, I thought of the oil painting—our family portrait—but Raphael wasn’t the quality of man or boss that our father was, and as long as blood pumped through my veins and oxygen filled my lungs, Willa would not end up like my mother.
She’s mine to protect.
My chest constricted as I acknowledged that fact.
“Wake him up,” Raphael ordered.
I gave Raphael the subservient nod that he expected, and then went to the row of steel lockers that stored all our tools of persuasion and retrieved the smelling salts.
Raphael tsked. “No, no, Lucifer. That won’t do. Use the hose.”
My steps faltered. We hadn’t used the hose in ...
The squeak of heavy rubber being dragged over smooth concrete broke through my reverie.
Keegan dropped the hose at my feet, giving me a look that said he had no fucking clue what was going on.
In the next moment, several things happened in rapid succession.
The flash of a steel blade severed the air, puncturing Tariq Zoto’s thigh, waking him from his pain-induced stupor. His head snapped back. Terror bled from his bloodshot eyes as he gagged on the red bandana that had been shoved to the back of his throat.
Keegan lunged into action, reaching for the cloth before Zoto choked to death.
Raphael dusted his hands as though he’d just finished a fucking biscuit instead of throwing a Damascus blade like a bloody savage.
