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A black car with tinted windows rolls slowly down the road. The back window lowers when they’re almost next to us. It must be someone Maxime knows, maybe someone from the party who wants to call out a last goodbye. I look at Maxime to catch his attention. He’s slowed down beside me, staring at the car with a strange expression.
“Get down,” Maxime yells at the same time as a string of shots blast through the air.
He throws his body in front of mine, taking me down to the pavement as the glass door of the casino explodes behind us. I hit the concrete with a thud, his arms cushioning the fall but my head taking a knock that makes my teeth clatter. My elbows and hip burn. My bones are crushed against the hard surface by Maxime’s weight.
Another round of shots go off. People scream. The couple who exited behind us scurry for the casino lobby. My cheek is pressed to the pavement. The concrete is rough and warm against my skin. It smells of dust and car exhaust. I register everything as the black car speeds off.
Someone shot at us.
“Maxime!” I push on his shoulders. Oh, my God! Is he hurt?
His eyes are the color of pale marble, cold and hard, when he lifts his weight and drags his hands over my body in clinical, examining strokes. He’s calm. Collected. Only his voice is urgent. “Are you hurt? Have you been shot, Zoe?”
“I’m fine.”
“Fuck.” He gets up and helps me to my feet.
Benoit is waving a gun. Gautier is lying in the gutter.
What? No! I slam a hand over my mouth.
Maxime bends down and presses two fingers on the jugular vein in Gautier’s neck. His face hardens. “Follow them,” he says to Benoit.
Benoit runs for the Mercedes.
“Get in the car, Zoe,” Maxime says.
I’m aware of him touching my arm, dragging me a little, but I can’t focus on anything other than the blood oozing from Gautier’s temple. I can’t look away from his open eyes and the way the light is missing from their depths.
“Zoe.” Maxime’s fingers dig into my upper arms. My teeth clack together as he shakes me. “I need you to keep it together. Can you do that for me, cherie?”
He turns me toward the Bugatti. The valet stands on the pavement with a stunned expression. I somehow manage to fold my stiff body double and get into the passenger seat when Maxime opens the door for me. He gets in and secures my safety belt, then his own.
Not looking back, he pulls off with screeching tires. We’re driving too fast. It makes me nervous, especially with the narrow road and the steep abyss dropping into the sea. I grip the door handle as he dials Raphael on voice command.
“We have a situation at the casino,” Maxime says when his father replies. “Gautier is down.”
Raphael’s voice is tight. “Motherfucking damn.”
“I’m dealing with it. I’ll keep you posted.”
Maxime switches over to another call, telling someone he needs cleanup. Another call demands backup, the next puts the guards at the house on alert, and the last instructs his lawyer to take care of the police. By the time we arrive home, Maxime seems to have everything, including himself, under control.
It’s only me who’s shaking, unable to process what’s happened.
He comes around and helps me from the car. The front garden is swarming with guards. Two stand at the door. Another waits inside.
“Guard her with your life,” Maxime says.
“Yes, sir.”
Maxime makes his way with long strides to the room he always keeps locked.
I run after him. “Maxime, wait!”
He takes a key from his pocket, unlocks the door, and pushes it open. Reflexively, I remain on the threshold when he hurries inside. It’s an instinctive reaction to knowing he doesn’t want me in there. There’s a big desk against the window and photos on the walls. It looks like a study. He opens a tall safe in a corner cabinet and removes a gun that he pushes into his waistband.
“Maxime, please. What are—?”
The automatic rifle he takes out next makes my words dry up.
Without giving me another look, he locks the door and walks from the house.
I stand in the foyer, staring at the front door he slammed behind him, hearing the echo bouncing off the emptiness.
The guard catches my eyes. “Maybe you should have a drink,” he says in a strong voice. “And a hot shower.”
I rest a palm against the wall. My body is shaking with cold chills. The lie whispers past my lips. “I’m fine.”
I want to be, but I’m not. Gautier is dead. Someone tried to kill Maxime in the middle of the street, right there in the open. That’s not normal. That’s not a simple drawback of being part of a rich and powerful family. That’s not taking the law into your own hands to punish your brother. That’s the truth. That’s the little worm that’s been niggling its way into my brain, the one I’ve been trying so hard to ignore.
