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My eyes had adjusted enough to see details. He wore a T-shirt and rugged tactical pants, both black. With his square face and Slavic cheekbones, he looked like a big blond member of the Russian mafia, the human mafia, that is.
A smile stretched across his face. With Tomas, the wider the smile, the more dangerous he was.
Now it was so wide, I faltered. “Tomas?”
“I am not here to get you out,” he said in his precise English.
My spine prickled. “What?”
This was my father’s lieutenant. His oldest friend. The man who’d always been there for me and my brothers. Training us. Scolding us. Cheering us on.
I shook my head. He couldn’t be an enemy. It wasn’t possible.
“Did they capture you, too?” I tried to see past him into the hall.
He held up a blunt-fingered hand. “Wait.”
Heels tapped against the concrete floor and Prima Victorine came into sight—and Tomas seemed to be expecting her.
“Ah,” he said. “There you are.”
The prickle turned to full-blown alarm. All my fine hairs stood on end.
For once, she wasn’t wearing a dress. Instead she wore slim black pants, a silky red T-shirt, and short boots with heels so sharp they could’ve doubled as daggers.
My gaze swung back to Tomas. “What’s going on?”
He had that Rafe’s-fucked-up-again expression on his face. The one I’d seen more than once as a kid.
“You never could keep the dick in your pants, could you?”
My mouth dropped open. “What the fuck’s that have to do with anything?”
“Prima Victorine didn’t believe you’d get this far. She thought Zoe would tell you to go to hell. But I told her that if we give to you enough rope, you will hang yourself. You not only broke into Philippe’s lair, you staked the Tremblay lieutenant.”
I glanced at Victorine, but I got nothing—her expression was the same cold mask I’d seen more than once on Zoe, although with Victorine, I was pretty sure the ice reached clear to her soul.
I moistened my dry lips. “I don’t understand,” I said to Tomas. “You’re my father’sfriend. Hell, you’re practically a member of the family. Why would you help the Tremblays?”
Was Tomas the mole? It seemed inconceivable, but it fit. Étan had not only known that I wasn’t Jean-Michel, but that I was a Kral.
And Tomas had known I was in Paris with Zoe. I’d told him myself.
Inside me, a dark fury flamed to life.
Later, I’d come to terms with the fact that the man I considered an honorary uncle had turned against me and my brothers. For now, I was determined to extract as much intel as I could from him.
Because I would escape. And Tomas would pay.
“We have interests in common,” Victorine said.
“What interests? What have you done to Zaq?”
“He’s in New York,” she said.
I was getting more confused by the minute. “But I thought Father’s here in Paris.”
“He left,” said Tomas. “He is supposed to be in New York. Zaq is setting the trap for him.”
