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“No.” Her defiance surprises me.
“Don’t test me.”
“Don’t threaten me.”
“You are not bringing a stranger into my home, and you are not leaving for six months, or even six minutes. Do I make myself clear?”
“No. I’m going, and there isn’t a damn thing you can do to stop me. So you will take this file, read it and see for yourself that I’m not letting a mole in your life, or you can fend for yourself for half a year and see how you fare. Either way, brother, you can’t stop me from leaving, and if you try, see how that pans out in the long run. Hmm.”
The smile that passes across my face is genuine, and it is one filled with pride. Sophia is the only one who could talk to me like that and not die a painful and drawn-out death. She is no doubt the fiercest woman I have ever known.
Deciding to play her game, I grunt and indicate the desk where she should leave the information about this golden unicorn in a world full of backstabbing, double-crossing, greedy mercenaries. “Don’t take that as compliance on my behalf. I’m more interested in seeing why you think this woman isn’t a mole. Probably means she is one, and I want to know more so I can take her out before she takes me out.”
“Jesus, Gideon,” Sophia says softly. “Don’t be like that. She’s a good woman.”
“Says you.”
“My word should be good enough.” Her voice trembles.
“Sadly, my dear, it is not. Leave the file and go.”
She sighs again and drops the file on the desk before stalking out without another word.
“Fucking six months,” I mutter. “What does she think this is?”
Lamenting my whiskey lost to the fire, I move over to the desk and pick up the file. It’s lighter than I expected, which tells me one thing. Sophia didn’t do enough homework on this creature. Sneering, I throw it back on the desk and pour another whiskey before moving over to the balcony doors and flinging them open to step out into the lashing down rain and gale-force winds. Feeling the freezing cold air hit my skin, I smile and throw my head back, revelling in the harsh nature of the weather. This tempest that fits my mood. Dropping my gaze over the village, lit up in the darkened night, the warm yellow lights cheery and a beacon of hope in the bleakness of the mid-winter, I wonder who and where this unicorn is right now.
One thing for sure is she has no idea who or where I am. Skulking in the shadows behind my castle walls, it is that way for a reason. As my father was before me, I am the Head of a Global Secret Society called Solitaire. It is my legacy, my birthright, my blood. It is also my weakness. As powerful as this position makes me in the world, it makes me twice as vulnerable. There isn’t a single member of the society that wouldn’t take me out given the chance in a coup that would pass the baton to them as told by the ancient bylaws of the Society. Do I blame them for wanting it? No. Do I want them to have it? No. Will I give it up willingly? Also… no. They will have to pry it from my cold, dead hands, but as much as I’ve protected my identity from the world and from those in the Society, there are a select few who know exactly who I am.
So, who am I to the world?
An enigmatic, eccentric, reclusive billionaire who lives up on the hill in the quiet village of Hemsway behind his fifteen-foot-high walls and electric gates.
But who am I really?
A man who has the world at his fingertips, who will do whatever it takes to stay twenty steps ahead of the game, a ruthless leader of an empire that is fickle and shaky as much as it is solid and absolute.
Power. It’s all about power. And the man behind the mask, the one with all the power, is the Don.
Gideon Hawthorne.
Me.
2
ISLA
“Don’t forget to put the key back through the cat flap, girl.”
Rolling my eyes as a smile, I call back, “Yes, Mrs Flannigan.” It’s not like I haven’t done this every other day for the last eight months, but she is a dear old woman in her nineties, and I adore her. She lived an eventful life, if her tales are anything to go by, and moved back to Hemsway thirty years ago when her husband died so she could die where she was born. I don’t think that’s on the horizon, but I guess you never know when your time is up. Turning the key to unlock the front door, I pull it out and leave Mrs Flannigan’s modest home, stepping out into the pouring rain on this freezing January morning. It hasn’t really got light yet, and I’m already one job down. Mrs Flannigan didn’t need much in the way of personal assistance today. Since I showed her how to do her grocery shopping online, she takes great delight in using this skill to cut back on my work.
More fool me.
I stupidly, and ignorantly, I’ll admit, expected her to forget how, and I’d still have a task to do for her. But I can’t be upset about it. She is one of my best clients, and I’ve grown so fond of her.
Locking up behind me, I throw the key through the cat flap, making sure it lands far enough away in case anyone tries to grab it and enter her home. Not that I think that’s likely in Hemsway. We are a small, close-knit community, and we look out for each other. Except for…
Glancing up in the rain at the castle on the hill, I roll my eyes again, but this time it’s with scorn. No one knows who he is. He moved in one day after months of renovation work and hasn’t been seen since. We know he’s still there, though. The delivery drivers are kept in full-time employment just from that one property. But none of them ever see him.
