Page 116 of Stealing Blinds

“Exactly.” Sylvie grins, solaced by everyone being on the same page. “But we can create a diversion in the wine cellar. It’s on the same level, with a lot of money on the line, so it might pull guards away from the bunker room. And there’s a narrow passageway that runs the length of the resort.”

Axel straightens in his chair, his whole demeanor perking up with that. “From the wine cellar to the bunker with the documents?”

“That’s not on the schematics,” Wells chimes in.

“No.” Sylvie beams. “It’s not. But I’m nearly certain it extends the length of the resort. I discovered it last year when I entered through the coal chute. A lot of historical French structures—especially those that predate the French Revolution—had escape routes built in.”

Liam arches a brow. “So, it can be accessed from the coal chute?”

“Not anymore,” she sighs. “It probably could’ve been originally. There are two transom windows in the old coal room. They’ve been left alone. One looks into the hallway outside the bunker housing the documents—that’s how I identified the keyholders. The other stares into the escape route. Everything suggests it should travel to the wine cellar and an alternate exit.”

“Nicely done, Sly.”

TRAINING

Sylvie has never held a gun before, and she doesn’t intend to this time, but I insisted that she get comfortable with it, just in case. Axel and Ryker didn’t join us today, but the rest of us practice at our shooting range for hours.

Zara demonstrates some basic tips. Of course our resident assassin shows off at the end, hitting her mark with her eyes shut. “It’s not like you have to do it blindfolded, but it’s something to aspire to.”

Zara isn’t being smug. She’s relating to Sylvie. It’s brilliant because she challenged my girl, aware that Sylvie will stop seeing the pistol as a weapon for murder and view this session as a competition. Something irresistible.

Sylvie steps up, adjusting to the weight of the gun and getting used to the kickback. She winces the first few times, but then her fiery spirit kicks in. It’s apparent the second her mind shifts into competitor mode. She gathers her dark brown hair into a ponytail in a hold-my-beer manner. And within minutes, she’s hitting the target dead-on every fucking time. She’s one of those people who can just do things. I will never stop being enamored with her.

She blushes when we all hoot and holler, but she eats it up, enjoying her ability to conquer another trial. Zara wraps her in a hug, and Tessa sidles up to her to whisper something that makes her laugh. Sylvie glows, not just from the victory. It’s the sense of belonging she’s been craving.

I’m not a good man, and I never intended to be good to anyone other than my family. But now that I have her, I will incinerate heaven and earth to build her the world she deserves. Watching my family become hers just fuels my desire to help her pave any path she fucking wants. We’ll line a trail with kindling, set anyone who dares to cross it ablaze, and tango among the flames. A crew destined for hell, but living each day in our personal utopia.

Maddox guides her to the other side of the lanes to throw hatchets—not because that’s part of the plan, but because we put money on how well she’ll do, and she chooses to indulge us. Without a single reservation, I go all in.

It takes her a little while to master the best throw of the hatchet, but as I predicted, she dominates. And when she lands the last one in the bull’s-eye, she does a cheeky little curtsy and bats her thick lashes. Wads of bills are thrown my way, but all I can think about is how magical Sylvie is and that my mother would be as in awe of her as I am.

To celebrate, we all head to Café L’Ambroisie for lunch, where the musicians prove to be just as eerie as I claimed. Even though I think we’re well past the Flora issue, it’s not in my best interest to call attention to the musical selections, so I let them do their thing while we eat.

Thankfully, Sylvie is too captivated by the classic New Orleans setting to seem to notice. She drinks in the eclectic vibe with its industrial wood ceiling, aged brick walls, polished concrete floors, and the burnt orange and turquoise color scheme as she gets lost in conversation with my family.

Jax finishes chewing a fry and looks across the table at her. “Why are you so opposed to carrying a gun on a job?”

The lead vocalist strums her guitar and announces into the microphone, “It’s always a good time for Bob Marley,” before she plays the opening chords of “I Shot the Sheriff.”

Unable to completely ignore it, I widen my eyes at Maddox and shake my head. He and Tessa barely contain themselves. And Zara, who is a believer in this bizarre witchcraft like me, bites her lip and does a double take at the band.

Sylvie doesn’t acknowledge it or hesitate to answer Jax. “It doubles the sentence if you’re caught.”

“You enter all jobs with that in mind?” Zara asks, likely because assassins don’t give much thought to possible prison time. That’s the least of their worries.

“Always,” Sylvie confirms, her brows furrowed at the musician for a beat before she returns her attention to us. “When my father was on trial, he drilled it into me—that it would’ve been so much worse if he’d been caught during the job rather than after. Because he’d had a gun with him. It didn’t work out the way he’d thought, but he was pleased that he had the possibility of parole after eight years. It would’ve been twenty or more if he’d been caught armed.”

We all silently soak that in, unsure how to phrase the reply without freaking her out. I pull Sylvie closer while I spear a piece of sausage in her bowl and pop it in my mouth. She understands the stakes as much as she needs to because the worst-case scenario doesn’t apply to her. The rest of them might be going to Minds of Our Time for some secret information. I’ll assist with that too. But my primary mission is to ensure not a hair on her head is disturbed.

Finally, Maddox sets his po’boy down, wipes his hands, and shifts his gaze between me and Sylvie. “This isn’t the kind of job that thinking applies to.”

She pushes her gumbo around, not ready to hear the underlying message. “There’s always a possibility of being put away.”

“Not this time.” Jax brushes his pale blue hair off his forehead, waiting for her eyes to lift to his. “If we get caught, no one’s calling the cops.”

And right on cue, the band breaks into “Only the Good Die Young.”

Sylvie hears the message loud and clear. Her ambers snap to me, and her jaw pops open. “Sorcery.”