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Then he types something in and presses a button, prompting it to make a soft chime. Almost instantly, my phone buzzes in my pocket. Without taking my eyes off of Lazlo, I take my phone out.
“It’s all there,” he says, inclining his head.
I check the address, my brows lifting with surprise when I realize it is on Menorca, an island close to Ibiza. My heart thuds as I quickly send forward his text to my private investigator in France. As my local agent in Europe, he can have teams scrambled and heading to her location in under an hour.
My heart is beating so damn fast in my chest that for a moment, I am unsteady on my feet. Eros moves in smoothly, taking over. He pulls out his phone, gets Mohamad’s phone number, and then sends him the address of the warehouse. I lean against the dirty sandstone wall and watch their interaction, but I hear little of it. If money is exchanged, I miss it somehow. My mind is whirling, exploring the possibilities.
Could my brother really be behind Persephone’s kidnapping? I’m dumbfounded. He watched me as I fell apart for months and months, and yet… he remained silent.
Part of me says it is not possible. But a larger part of me says that of course it is… who else would stage a kidnapping and not bother to ask for a hefty ransom?
Faintly, I hear Eros questioning Lazlo. “Does Constantine know that you are selling to Hades?”
I blink. My hand aches, although I do not think it is broken. I cup it with my undamaged fingers and stare off into the distance.
The only thing that brings me back into sharp focus is the sound of the first gunshot. From somewhere up above, a sleek bullet glides right through the back of Lazlo’s skull.
For a moment, I’m confused. Lazlo stopped speaking mid-sentence and I look at him, my mind working to catch up with the sound. A small stain appears on the front of his dress just below the right breastbone.
Time seems to thin, stretching out for a few moments. Lazlo starts to look up… and then suddenly sags to the ground, his life cut suddenly, irredeemably short. It’s only then that Eros snaps into action.
“Gun!”
He pulls me against the wall. I backpedal into the shadows of the doorway, drawing my weapon. I cringe as my hand throbs sharply, but my body does what I want it to. I swing the weapon up, covering the opening over our heads.
Eros draws his weapon too, backing up until both of us are resting against the door. But there is no sign of life. No movement from above whatsoever.
In fact, were it not for Lazlo’s crumpled body lying in the alley, blood soaking the cobblestones underfoot, I would doubt that a shot was fired.
Eros opens the door behind him, peering out. “Let’s go.”
My heart is in my throat as I follow him out onto the busy street. The ebb and flow of the marketplace continues as if Lazlo were not bleeding the last gushes of his life’s blood onto its streets. I ease the door closed behind me and follow my brother as he ducks down and moves along the line of buildings.
