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Much more light floods the room than one would expect from the ominous doors that guard it. A couple of maids mill about the edges of the room, two male servers standing with trays and carafes ready by the round table that faces the floor-to-ceiling window. This is basically the antechaber to the dining room, and the Duke often uses it as a sun room to entertain his guests. There are three of them, judging by the three tall chairs angled away from me and towards the window. The only face I can see is the Duke’s.
Romano Royales has the reputation of a despicable villain among his staff, especially the older ones who’ve known him since before Annabelle was taken to a mental institution, but most people dismiss that as mean rumors when they meet him. He can be a charming man, the way he presents himself now, laughing and entertaining his guests. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him wear anything other than a suit worthy of royalty, and in-your-face expensive shoes. Always black, always shiny. Streaks of white run through his hair like snakes.
“Ah, there she is, Justine,” he exclaims when he sees me. “Please, approach.”
I hesitate, but the benevolence in his eyes wavers. The grin remains, but oh how different it looks when it doesn’t reach his eyes.
“It’s rude to keep people waiting, Justine.”
By the time I step into the spot the Duke indicates for me, with my back to the window and facing the guests, my shoulders are slumped forward, and I’m wringing my hands.
“Afterparty Justine.” This time it isn’t Dogg’s mouth that produces those dreadful words, but the plump, freshly injected, glossy lips of Gertrude Fairfell. “Thank you, Duke Royales, for granting me the pleasure of seeing her again.”
She’s sitting like a queen in her tall chair, hands on the arms, legs crossed. A white Gucci dress that Mel had been eyeing on IG wraps her body, the color offsetting her shiny tan skin, her dark hair in a styled bun atop her head. If it weren’t for the too-thick eyelashes, she’d actually look classy.
But classy or not, she is a powerful woman, and everything about her screams it.
Two men are flanking her. One of them I know. Dogg Wilson. Just in order to keep my eyes off of him and refrain from throwing up, I direct them to the other. An older man with a stern face, a heavy smoker’s complexion and the features of an Inquisitor. Noticing the direction of my gaze, Gertrude smiles.
“I see Uncle Lennard has already gotten your attention. He is an impressive man like that, I must say.” She turns to the man, gently touching his arm. “Uncle Lennard, this is Justine, the girl from school I’ve been telling you about. You know, the one I tried so hard to be friends with?” She makes a mock-sad face that no one would ever buy, which means everyone here knows what this is except me. “But she decided to hurt my feelings and sleep with my fiance.” She pauses, her small eyes fixing me like mean little bullets while the others’ attention weighs on me. Even though I’m not looking at Dogg, I know that he’s grinning, enjoying the show.
“Not that I expect my fiance to live like a hermit since I’m saving myself for the wedding and all. But I didn’t expectherto use that shamelessly to advantage, worm her way into his bed, and twist his mind enough that he publicly defended her in front of the police.” Her eyes move to Romano, her eyebrows rising in an expression of empathy. “But look at me, so selfishly talking about my own injury when this must be even harder on you, Duke Romano. After you gave her father the best-paid job that poor bastard has ever had, after you paid her tuition fee, what a betrayal this must be.”
Romano doesn’t say anything. He just sits there, twirling his brandy, watching me.
So he knew from the start. He’s in with the others on this cruel scenario. I haven’t seen Sade or Micah around the house the whole day, so these snakes must have gotten rid of them somehow so they could stage this. An appetizer before the main event.
Not a single hint of emotion appears on Uncle Lennard’s face. If it weren’t for his occasional blinking, I’d say he’s just a puppet. One with an impressively sinister face.
“Of course, he’s not actually my uncle,” Gertrude says with a chuckle that reminds me of her mean laughter in the college hallways. “But he’s been my guardian for as long as I can remember. And he’s here to represent my interests.” A glance at Romano. “In the understanding that the Duke and my parents have.”
“I’m sorry Lord Fairfell couldn’t make it personally,” Uncle Lennard finally speaks, and it sounds every bit as puppet-like as his face looks. Robotic. “He and Lady Fairfell have extended their trip in Europe. I have been invested with all the powers necessary to act and make decisions in their names. Of course, my decision will be based entirely on young Lady Fairfell’s desires.”
Gertrude grins, satisfied, draping one leg over the other as if, on the inside, she were dancing with pleasure. As if Lennard’s words were meant as a threat.
I frown, pretending to be confused. “Wait, I don’t understand. Is this supposed to mean anything to me?”
The smile wipes off her face.
“It means you have to do whatever Lady Fairfell asks to clear the grievance,” Romano explains in her stead, and my blood runs cold. Whatever this snake of a woman is planning, it’s gonna hurt.
“Care to explain what the fuck is happening here?”
My spine snaps to attention. That was Sade’s voice, calm but deadly. I look up to see him standing in the doorway next to Micah, both dressed all in black. The turtlenecks showcase their muscles, defined and brutal. Leathers are strapped to their legs, the hilts of what looks like blades of different shapes and sizes fastened to them.
A chill runs through me. They’re angels of death incarnate. Micah sure looks like he’s just had his innate bloodlust satisfied, and the sculpted planes of Sade’s face are locked as if he’s about to inflict serious harm. I can’t help licking my lips as he starts walking over. The man is a fucking thirst trap, and damn it, that’s the last thing I should be thinking about right now.
“You’re back early.” Romano sounds surprised. The glass of brandy dangles from his hand as if he forgot about it, and his eyes are slightly wider. Gertrude shimmies uncomfortably in her seat as well, her eyebrows dipping as if this were interfering with her plans. Only Lennard remains unmoved, keeping his eyes on a fixed place–my forehead, as if he wants to plant a bullet there.
“We’re efficient like that.” Sade stops between Romano and Lennard’s seats, his eyes shifting suspiciously from one to the other. “After all, we already have a decade of experience, thanks to you,” he bares his teeth at Romano, “Dad.”
The weight of those words crawls up my spine.
Experience. In hunting. Killing.
When his eyes move to me, the daylight from the floor-to-ceiling window falling on his irises, my breath catches. Dawn after a bloodbath. That’s what the title would be for a poem about them.
It takes a moment, but Romano straightens his posture and clears his throat as if this were just another day in rich men’s paradise.
