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ILARION
“She’s not gonna be happy,” Dima warns me as we make our way up to the grand ballroom on the twenty-seventh floor. “Not even a little bit.”
Before I can sarcastically thank my second-in-command for stating the very-fucking-obvious, the elevator doors open to reveal…
My sister, decked out in a shimmering black dress that’s far too tight for my liking.
On Taylor, I’d have been intrigued. On Mila, I feel like I need to avert my eyes.
“Whoa,” Dima breathes. “Mila…you look amazing.”
It takes everything I have in me not to react, to tell him to roll his lolling tongue back up in his mouth. Mila’s face stays impassive but strained. I can practically see the pistons in her head surging as she tries not to blush.
“Yeah, thanks,” she mumbles dismissively. She turns to look at me. “How did it go?”
“We found the safehouse. Exactly where Archie said it would be.”
“But…?”
“Benedict anticipated it,” I finish. “He set Gregor up there as a decoy.”
Mila frowns. “Is he dead?”
“Long dead. But he’s not the one I wanted gone.”
She grins delightedly. “Still, I’ll take the minor wins when we can get them. What’s the next move?”
The door of the grand ballroom swings open. Noise, laughter, and music spill out into the foyer. “It’s Benedict’s move,” I answer.
Mila blinks, confused. “What do you mean?”
“I offered him a truce—of sorts.”
She looks like she’s going to gag on my words. “Atruce? With Benedict Bellasio? On what kind of terms?”
“He disbands what remains of his crumbling Bratva, writes off his remaining assets to me, surrenders himself to my custody, and he gets to live the rest of his life in decent comfort. Emphasis on ‘gets to live.’ It’s the best offer he’ll ever get.”
Mila’s frown deepens. “He’s not going to accept that.”
I shrug. “His choice to make. His life to gamble with.”
“Are you sure about this?” she presses. “There’s more at stake here. Not just Celine’s life; there’s Taylor and Adam to consider.”
“Benedict has no clue about either one of them. As far as he’s concerned, Celine’s the only one he has to target.”
“And you’re willing to take that risk?”
“Better question: is he?”
“The man is desperate, Ilarion,” Mila points out. “You’ve made your stance very clear:touch Celine and he dies. But what if his life no longer means that much to him? He’s two moves away from losing everything. He might consider that reason enough to take her.”
“Celine’s no longer the shy kitten she was when I married her. She can hold her own.”
“Is this about Taylor?” she asks with a weary exhale. “With Celine out of the picture—"
“Enough!” I snarl, far more angrily than the situation calls for. “That’s enough. Put your party face on. We have a ball to attend.”
Mila knows better than to question me, though she looks like she’d rather jump off a bridge than go dancing right now. Still, she knows her place. She sighs deeply and follows me toward the ballroom.
