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Val stands back rigidly, and her guard covers her. Mother of God, thankfully someone cares.

One man holds up his hands, but Roman isn’t listening to reason. He aims the gun and fires. I turn my head at the last second, missing the moment the bullet enters his skull. When I look back, the man’s a crumpled hunk of meat on the tiled floor, blood pooling against the stark white. Everyone else is perfectly still.

Valentina watches, face calm. The sight of blood doesn’t bother her. I wish I could say the same.

Roman speaks, and I can barely read his lips. “That fucking bitch.”

Ah. He’s going off about my sister. That’s fun.

Sitting back, a newly serene Roman instructs his men with clipped words. As the party disperses, it leaves the siblings alone, and I adjust the camera to watch their faces.

He stalks over to her; his body curved like a panther. A small, sickly one, but his intent is clear. Danger.

Roman flips her hair. At the far corner, I see a speck of white on her head, but it’s hidden as she pivots.

Whatever they say, she keeps her mouth shut, but those eyes. They flare with burning rage that could level the house down to its foundation.

There’s something between them. A hatred born between enemies. I’ve seen sibling dynamics—as the youngest brother, it’s amusing as fuck watching all my sisters throw elbows on a school day—but this is deeper. A hatred that festers and splits the heart until only darkness remains.

It’s hot.

Eventually, he releases her, and she returns to her room. She inhales and takes a long second staring at her phone, but ultimately ignores it. I don’t let it bother me, though it damn well does.

Talk to me.

When she turns the light off, I pull up the outside compound cameras. I have a strong suspicion why Roman was so mad at my sister, and why his men paid the price.

Clicking through the footage, I find what I’m looking for only minutes later.

My sister’s car, speeding past their farthest camera on their property, hidden beside a large oak. Roman must have seen her get past their boundaries and was furious that no one stopped her.

Sloppy. She should’ve called me to delete it.

My fingers hit the code, and I erase the footage. It won’t do a lot of good now, but it makes me feel better. One more way I’m protecting my family.

Pulling up my texts, I send her a message.

Roman has footage of you dropping off Paolo.

She Who Reigns: Why are you looking into Paolo?

Because I’m your brother and I care.

There’s a pause.

She Who Reigns: Thanks. Now, go to bed.

I glance at the time. Past midnight? It’s still early.

After you.

Maeve is plagued by nightmares. There from the horrors she endured as a child. I like to think they’ve diminished now that the Reaper shares her bed, but that’s silly. Trauma doesn’t vanish overnight.

But he is the only one I trust to take care of her.

Shoving away from the computer, I descend the stairs and head into the galley kitchen. The penthouse is modern and minimal, the complete opposite of the home I grew up in. I like it that way. Little to remember, and no connection to Ferguson.

Turning on the electric kettle, I open another text.