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“Episode?” Marcus cast aside his plate and jumped to his feet. “What do you mean, episode?” he shouted, already halfway out the door when I stopped him.

“The doctor said it was a stroke.” I met his green eyes that were so full of worry. “They sedated her.”

Jon frowned. “Is she fine now?”

“I think so,” I muttered, heading straight to the bar. I made a scene of pouring myself a stiff drink.

“Let’s go see her,” Marcus told my brothers, and they all nodded.

But I raised a firm hand. “We shifted her to the Claudia room,” I told them. It was a room at the other end of the wing, which had no occupants. “It’s quieter there. The doctors said she needed complete rest.”

“They said she was fine.” Karl’s confused gaze locked on me. “Why the stroke?”

“I don’t know,” I muttered, raking a hand through my hair. “She was fine one second, and then…” I swallowed some of my bourbon. “She said she remembered something, something important, and then her eyes rolled back and then…” I waved a frustrated hand. “This.”

I carefully watched them, but no one showed any reaction.

“Something important?” Lucien tilted his head in question. “From that night?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know. It was probably nothing. And some sort of side effects from being in a coma for all these years. But anyway…” I rose to my feet. “The doctor said she’ll be up tomorrow. Let’s go home and convene in the morning. I’m leaving too. Bella is waiting for me.”

They all slowly nodded and moved to leave.

I left the room first, knowing very well I wasn’t going anywhere.

Later that night, I stood in the alcove of the Claudia room, making myself one with the shadow as I waited and waited. Seconds turned into minutes and then hours, but still nothing.

He should come.

He has to.

He has no other choice.

He will come to tie up the loose end himself. He has no one left anymore.

Right at three fourteen, two gunshots were fired off in the distance outside. I had our men guarding the place fake their injuries to put on an act. I held my breath, my heart thudding in my ribcage as I kept my gaze locked on the door. The footsteps drew closer, more hurried, and the door squealed open.

The lines of a familiar navy suit were the first thing I noticed. My heart almost dropped when I took in the pair of green eyes that shared the same blood as me.

Only he looked nothing like the boy I grew up with. Something was dead in his eyes and maniacal in the way he moved.

He didn’t see me and instead aimed the gun toward the bed and fired three shots. There wasn’t an ounce of hesitation in him that he was shooting at his own fucking mother.

Who was he?

“Why, Marcus?” I asked the same question he did that night as I made myself known.

He didn’t flinch as he slowly turned around, and a slight sneer curled his lips. Thunder rumbled in the distance, and the lightning from the windows flashed into the dark room, illuminating the menacing glint in his eyes.

“Fucking Arkane,” he said in a cold tone. “I should’ve fucking known.” In the blink of an eye, he raised his gun and shot me three times in the chest.

“It’s blanks,” I whispered, as the bullet caught in the vest I was wearing, stumbling back a step from the force. “I had Mikhail switch out all your guns.”

His eyes jerked toward the bed. And Jon climbed out, his gun stretched out. “Hello, brother,” he spat, his arctic eyes filled with equal parts devastation from the betrayal and lethal rage.

“Why?” I asked again. My hands stayed limp by my side as I stared into the eyes of a man whom I once considered my brother. How can my own fucking blood do this to me?

A brother who didn’t hesitate to shoot me.