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24
Aria laughedfor the countless time as she sat across from Charlotte Marchand. The other woman had been one of the happiest surprises of Paris. Charlotte was as calm and reserved as Christophe, as elegant as any piece of art, but underneath it all she had a wicked sense ofhumor.
Aria had arrived at the cyber lab prepared to make herself scarce, or better yet, to find a way to help Damian with the plans he was making for New York. Charlotte had obviously been brought in to keep Aria company, but when she tried to object, Charlotte had waved away Aria’s concern with the assertion that it was good to be among the living and breathing as opposed to the oil paintings and antique furniture that were her usualcompany.
Charlotte had given her a layman’s tour of the lab, and they’d spent the next two hours talking over coffee like lifelong friends. Aria had learned all about Charlotte’s mother, an American actress whose name Aria recognized, and her father, a French antique expert who had passed away two years ago. They’d talked about Charlotte’s old job at the Getty museum in Los Angeles, and her relatively new life in Paris and Corsica as the wife of a titled Frenchman who also happened to be a member of the world’s most powerful organized crimeenterprise.
Charlotte had provided yet another window into the private world of the Syndicate, a world more nuanced then Aria had expected. Maybe she’d expected them all to be like old world mobsters, but it was quickly becoming obvious that Nico’s vision for a modern criminal enterprise extended to the Syndicate’s women. From Angel’s philanthropic mission, to Jenna’s quiet life in Tuscany, to Charlotte’s ongoing restoration of antiques purchased for the apartment in Paris and the Marchand estate on the island of Corsica, it was clear there were no old-school expectations for them beyondloyalty.
Aria didn't know about them, but loyalty to Damian wasn't even a choice. He belonged to her and she to him. That she would always stand by his side had been a forgone conclusion; she just hadn’t known it until the chipsweredown.
Still, it was intriguing to get a glimpse behind yet another of the Syndicate’s curtains, and she watched with admiration as Charlotte stepped out of the kitchen to ask Christophe and Damian if they wanted coffee. Charlotte was solicitous of Christophe, but the way he looked at her made it clear that she had plenty of her ownpower.
Maybe it was a product of their business. Maybe it required that kind of devotion. Maybe the only way you could possibly choose it was if it wasn’t a choice at all, if your love ran so deep, if it was so undeniable, that denying it wasn’t anoption.
She looked at Damian, sitting behind the glass wall of the private office where he’d been holed up with Christophe for the last two hours. She would take any life with him over a life without him. She’d once thought it would mean sacrificing herself, giving up the part of herself that she’d held above Primo’s business. She was beginning to see it wasn't true; she could make her life with Damian whatever she wanted it to be. Instead of turning her into someone else, it could be the instrument of her becoming the person she was — the person she was meanttobe.
Charlotte re-entered the kitchen and sat down across from Aria. “Christophe promised they’ll take us to lunch in an hour,”shesaid.
“I’m in no hurry,”Ariasaid.
She meant it. Being in the office — an historic building that had once been used for refrigeration, Charlotte told her — was an extension of the refuge that was Paris. The exterior of the building was nondescript, the neighborhood a little rough, but the security wassignificant.
Inside the building, they were surrounded by studious people tapping away at keyboards. It might have been any office in any country in the world, except here Aria knew they were doing the Syndicate’s bidding. It was one of the most fascinating aspects of the business, and she made a mental note to ask Damian more about his cyberoperation.
“Will you be going back to New York with Damian?” Charlotte asked, sipping hercoffee.
“I assume so,” Aria said. She turned her cup in her hand as she thought about Primo, about the nightclub she’d painstakingly decorated, the apartment that had been her home. “It’s the only home I’ve everknown.”
It would be different now. She would probably never see those places again — might not ever see Primo again — but it was still true. New York was her home. She would rebuild her life there withDamian.
She was surprised when Charlotte reached over and covered her hand with her own. “It’s hard in the beginning. It will geteasier.”
She was opening her mouth to thank Charlotte, to ask her if it had been an adjustment to match her life to that of Christophe Marchand, when a ball of heat ripped through the center of theoffice.
She barely had time to register the roar in her ears as she was thrown to the ground and everythingwent dark.
