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Prologue
It was hollow. A vast emptiness. I had edged closer toward it. Stepped farther than I vowed I would allow myself to go at this point. It was too soon. Way too soon. But if I gave in—if I gave up, what would happen? If I succumbed and let it swallow me whole, where would I be? If I let the darkness seep under my skin and live inside my lungs, what would happen next? Each breath was hard enough. A struggle at best. A fight of will and stubbornness over illness. How many more breaths could I muster? How many more before the door opened and a cloaked figure beckoned me? I knew he was close. Hovering outside my door. I thought I saw his shadow this morning. He was neither patient nor kind. I didn’t deserve either comfort. The choices I’d made in my life had brought me preciously to this moment. My fate was decided the day I stepped behind my father’s desk. So was hers. It has always been that way in the family, it would always be that way, whether I was here to see the power transfer or not.
I thought of all the times she looked at me with bitterness. Fear. Distrust. I didn’t think about it then. Not when I left in the middle of ballet recital for a meeting. Not when she won a prize at the science fair and I wasn’t there to see her receive it. I had told myself she was only a child. I dismissed the tears as immature weakness. I didn’t understand years of disappointments could pile on top of each other. I underestimated that it would create impenetrable resentment.
Would I change it now if I could? Would I die regretting the choices I made as a father?
When she was very young, she would climb into my lap. I thought she was too small. Too fragile for me to hold. I’d place her back on the floor and we would examine each other before I moved to another room. Those are the moments a dying man takes the hardest. I destroyed the affection she had for me. I poured cold water on her excitement when she waited by the door for me to come home. I walked into the study, closing the door behind me and locking her out. I didn’t want sticky gooey hands on my bank statements. I didn’t want to answer questions about butterflies or frogs. I didn’t want her to know I could barely tolerate myself, much less a child I helped create.
I closed my eyes as another coughing fit shook my entire body and rattled any hope that I’d survive another night. The nurse hurried through the door. I felt her attempt to push me forward as she offered a glass of water. My neck barely moved. Water dribbled along my chin. I clutched at her, gasping.
“Kim…ble.”
“Mr. Martin, shh, shh,” she soothed. “He hasn’t called. I’ll let you know when he does. I kep my phone right here.” My eyes opened enough to see the nurse patted the pocket on her blue scrubs.
“Kennedy?” I whispered next. She shook her head.
“Not yet,” she answered. She straightened my pillow and tapped something on the machine adjacent to the bed.
“No,” I croaked, but the drip had begun. I didn’t think it had ever stopped. “No more.”
I had a minute, maybe less before I sank back into the fog of restless dreams and endless demons that stalked my sleep. I wanted to stay awake, even if the pain was unbearable. My sins would be waiting for me on the other side of the curtain. In what few hours I had remaining I needed to focus on what was left. Who was left.
I motioned to the nurse. “He has to find my daughter.” I didn’t know if he statement made it outside of my head.
“Your daughter will be back,” she assured me. “It’s a standard ransom kidnapping. Try not to worry and focus on getting sleep so you can see Kennedy when they bring her home.”
“No,” I hissed, clawing at her hand.
The nurse shrieked, trying to yank her fingers away, but I pinned them into the quilt against my hip with what strength I had left.
“Not Kennedy.” My tongue felt heavy and thick. I had to say it. If I didn’t wake up tomorrow. If Kennedy was never returned. If Kimble had already been compromised. If the only person who heard my deathbed confession was this nurse, so be it. I had been a horrible father. I was willing to face that now. I didn’t have to die taking the secrets with me. Kennedy should know the truth.
“You’re too agitated. Just try to—”
“Listen,” I cut her off. I hated how weak my voice sounded. I’d never been a weak man until this illness attacked my body. The fog was starting to settle, making my limbs feel like weights, pressing my body into the mattress. “Tell Kennedy…” I fought for air. I sucked hard, searching for enough oxygen to form the words.
“Yes?” She leaned closer.
“Kennedy needs to…” The room had disappeared. My eyes closed, but I continued to struggle to make my mouth move.
“Needs to what, Mr. Martin? Take your time. Don’t overdo it. Please.” She patted my hand. “Easy breaths. There you go. Easy. Much better.” Her hand slipped away.
“Her sis—” My tongue began to fail me. “Sis—” I tried again.
“Mr. Martin. You can tell me after your nap. This is too much. Rest. Rest. I’ll just up your morphine a little more. This should take care of it.”
“No-no.” The tiniest word took the greatest effort. Why wouldn’t she listen to me? I didn’t want any more morphine.
“It’s going to feel better any second. You’re straining too much. I don’t like what’s happening with your blood pressure.” She was no longer paying attention to me and focused on pushing the button for that damn drip. The one that stole what time I had left. It ripped away seconds I couldn’t afford to spend.
This would be the last act of my life. The last time I summoned my body to obey me. I had forced people to listen before. Wielded my power as a weapon to get what I wanted. Only, it had been easier then. It wasn’t strength I relied upon but my ability to cast fear. To look in a man’s eyes while he was on his knees and demand his loyalty. They all had listened. The organizations. The most hated heads of the families. They listened because I was Lucien Martin. But this nurse? She could go to hell for treating me like my last breath had already been taken. There was one more in this body. One that had to expelled. One breath that would change my family’s destiny.
I repeated it in my head. Organized the words before I launched them off my tongue. “Tell Kennedy to find her sister.”
“Mr. Martin? Mr. Martin? Can you hear me? Sir?” I heard a long high-pitched be
eping noise before a cold hand clamped over my mouth.
1
Knight
I had made a lot of promises. Some I had kept well. Others I had offered, knowing they were lies. None of them mattered as much as this one. I promised to keep her safe. I promised her with everything I had she would be safe with me. Protected to the ends of the Earth. That no one would touch her. No one could take her away and hide her in the darkness.
I had looked in her eyes. I had held her and spoke the words to her. This was the ultimate betrayal. It was my betrayal. It has cost me everything.
Time didn’t want to move as I stood on the sidewalk. It felt as if there was thick oil pushing through my veins, instead of blood. My head pounded. My ears rang. Kennedy was gone. As the seconds ticked away, I didn’t know how to bring her back.
Fuck. I had to stop the paralysis taking over my body.
I started running. It felt as useless as screaming her name did, but I kept running around the block. I stopped a cab driver. I halted a man in a top hat, carrying a carriage full of tourists.
I was out of breath. “Stop. Stop!” I raised my hands, pulling on the bit of the horse. “Have you seen a woman? Maybe hurt? Or just out here?” I made no sense. Keeping the anonymity of the families and the secret world we operated in concealed what I wanted to ask.
“No. Now let go of my horse.” He drew a whip next to his hip and I immediately retracted my hold on the animal.
I shook my head and staggered away. My shirt clung to my chest and the jacket suffocated me, but I kept running and searching. Was I crazy or smart? I called her name, louder each time.
She didn’t answer. No one had seen a gorgeous blonde walk past. No one could fathom the kind of crime I was talking about happening in broad daylight. No one believed the mafia existed outside a television screen.
Someone had her. Someone else had taken her from me.
I walked back inside and took the elevator to the top floor. I paced between the sawhorses and exposed wiring. I kicked a paint can halfway across the room. I pictured Kennedy on the sticky floor of that basement. I imagined her begging for food or water again. Someone else’s hands on her body. I had to fucking think. I had to stop feeling. I couldn’t think about the what ifs. I grabbed a wrench and hurled it through the air. It smashed a light fixture and shards of glass scattered.
I buried my head in my hands. She had just been here. She was just here. I sank to my knees. The sawdust coated my pants. The bottle of champagne rested only yards away. Goddamn, why had I been worried about warm champagne?
Wondered about pissing away a thousand dollars-worth of booze when the woman I loved had been snatched off the street? What the hell was wrong with me?
It was unfair. I had found her again. After all this time, we were finally where we were supposed to be. This wasn’t right. It couldn’t possibly be real. It was another nightmare. Like one of the ones I used to have after the vineyard fire. I’d wake up drenched in sweat. My hands shaking. My entire body feeling as it if had been submerged in ice.
