“I’m sorry, I—”
“Good luck.” Eve rolled her eyes. “Get Duolingo or something.”
Antoine gave her a parting kiss. “Plenty of time to learn a little French,” he said as he walked out, passing Noah in the hallway with a nod.
Marcel waited downstairs, looking more frail with each passing day. How would he take to leaving this house, in only four more nights? He was too old for such a change. And if Antoine took Cally and left Boston, who would keep him company?
“I went ahead and had the tank filled, sir.” The old retainer handed him the keys to the Audi.
“Thank you,” Antoine said as he accepted them, yet it wasn’t enough. He wanted to say so much more, but the words wouldn’t come.
Marcel seemed to know. “Don’t spare me a thought, sir. You have enough on your plate, and I am not without my means; you have paid me well for many years, and I’ve never had need to spend any of it. I will buy a house somewhere quiet and live out my years happily drinking through the remainder of your wine cellar.”
Antoine laid a hand on his shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze, then turned for the door. It was yet another reason to make Roberto pay, and it gave purpose to his steps.
He followed Route 9 into the city, heading not to Gabe’s apartment but to The Berkshire, the exclusive members-only club where only a few weeks before, he and Gabe had played some poker. With all that had happened, it felt like a lifetime ago. It seemed more had occurred in the past six weeks than in the previous sixtyyears.
Gabriel had thralls on the staff, ensuring privacy, and one of them showed Antoine into a private room with thick carpets, dark wood paneling, and luxurious chairs. The scent of leather mingled with old cigar smoke.
“There you are,” Gabe said with an easy smile, coming over to clasp his arm, then showing him to one of the deep-seated chairs. “We have a few minutes before Anastasia will arrive. Is that time enough?”
“Should be.” Antoine sank into the soft chair, resting an elbow on one thick, padded arm. A brandy and cigar would suit, but he had no need of either.
“So why the cloak-and-dagger? What’s the news?” Gabe took to his seat like he belonged.
Antoine smiled thinly. “You are sitting opposite an outcast, my friend.”
“What?” Gabe’s surprise was laced with outrage, and he leaned forward. “Noah’s message suggested it was important, but…” He shook his head. “How has this happened?”
“Our esteemed and beloved resident Curia member has banished me for refusing one of his decrees.”
“Oh?” Gabe settled back into his chair. “I should’ve anticipated as much. What did he ask of you?”
“Not much. Only the rights to my marked chattel.”
Gabe stilled, his face hardening as seconds ticked by. “He can’t do that,” he said at last, his tone dangerously soft.
“Apparently, he can. An old custom, still valid.Jus dominii,if my memory serves.” Antoine waved a hand. “Equivalent to the feudal kingly privilege of ‘first night’ rights, only more permanent.”
“He knows, then?” Gabe cut to the heart of the matter.
“I am… unsure. It would suggest he does, but he may not; he might just have reasoned—correctly—that Cally’s value to me is greater than that of any mere marked chattel.”
Gabe pushed himself out of his chair, pacing across the room as if too agitated to sit still. “If he does this to you, what will stop him claiming other such rights on the rest of us?”
Antoine kept his silence, letting Gabe reach his own conclusions. But it was exactly the direction he’d hoped his friend would take.
“This is untenable,” Gabe muttered. “When has any Curia member been so heavy-handed?”
Antoine could think of a few occasions, but he kept his thoughts to himself.
Gabe spun to face him. “How powerful is he? Can you take him?”
That was always going to be the question.
“No. I do not believe I can.”
And that, regretfully, was the answer.
