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“I broke away only once after that,” Ariadne murmurs, her gaze growing distant and haunted. “To find the bastard who sold me. But he was already dead. I couldn’t even get my revenge on him. I went back to Grandmother because I had nothing else.”
Mrs. Graves rises abruptly, clearing her throat. “That’s enough for now,” she says. “Sarah needs to rest. She’ll stay here with me.”
But I catch the barest flicker of uncertainty in Mrs. Graves’ eyes and realize—she hasn’t told Sarah the entire truth yet. That Hadria and I were the ones who avenged her, at her mother’s request. Probably better if we reserve that information for now.
“I’m not comfortable with you having an assassin in your rooms, Mrs. Graves.” Hadria, thankfully, seems to be of the same mind as me—until she turns to Scarlett. “And there’s still the matter of the other one to deal with as well.”
Mrs. Graves whirls on her, eyes blazing. “If Sarah is sent away, then I will go too.”
I can practically see the gears turning in Hadria’s mind, calculating the potential consequences of losing Mrs. Graves…again. When she finally speaks, her tone has softened considerably.
“I’m not suggesting Sarah leave, merely that she be confined to her own room—with guards—until we can trust her.”
A fair compromise. But Mrs. Graves’ lips are pressed into a grim line. “Of course I trust my own daughter!”
“But why should anyone else trust me?”
The soft utterance from Ariadne—Sarah, damn it—catches us all by surprise. She sits hunched in the chair, looking utterly drained.
“Sarah, sweetheart—” Mrs. Graves starts, but Sarah cuts her off with a weary shake of her head.
“It’s a fair offer, Mom. If I was Hadria Imperioli, I wouldn’t trust me either.” She meets Hadria’s thoughtful gaze. “I’ll accept the guards and confinement.”
Mrs. Graves grumbles, “I don’t see why Sarah has to be guarded, if Scarlett will be allowed to roam free.”
“She won’t be.”
The chill in Hadria’s tone is felt by all of us. I chance a sidelong glance at her, and I’m acutely aware of the weight of the Beretta tucked into my lower back, snug against my spine.
But I play it cool for now. I don’t want to give her a reason to doubt my loyalties further. Pasting on a carefully neutral expression, I turn to face Hadria fully. “Well, why don’t we head up to the war room to discuss that, Boss?”
The words are polite, even deferential, but it’s an undisguised attempt to extricate us from a volatile situation. For a moment, Hadria simply stares at me.
“Very well,” she acquiesces at last. “Mrs. Graves, we’ll have someone see to Sarah’s accommodations shortly.”
And with that, Hadria turns on her heel and makes for the door, not even bothering to glance back to ensure we follow.
I send Scarlett a warning look, and we trail after Hadria together. Along the way, our hands brush together, and I seize the moment, take her hand in mine, squeeze it briefly in a silent reassurance.
And after a moment, she squeezes back.
CHAPTER 18
Scarlett
This place is a maze, and everyone seems to know where they’re going except for me. Elysium is breathtaking, to say the least. The mansion makes Grandmother’s high-rise look like a cheap motel in comparison. Every inch oozes money, from the crimson carpets in the bedrooms to the modern-art lighting fixtures that cast a warm, buttery glow across the flawless hardwood floors.
We pass what feels like a hundred rooms, and in each of them, I can see Syndicate members—some lounging around, some napping, some laughing and talking until they catch a glimpse of our little train heading by.
It’s so vastly different from the cold, sterile environment Grandmother preferred. And in the penthouse suite, luxury was merely an illusion, a facade crafted to instill a sense of wanting. Of desire. Luxury was a privilege. Something to be earned by following Grandmother’s orders. By respecting the hierarchy.
In the heart of Elysium, things seem very different.
The people I see here all have a casual ease to them. There are no nerves. No flinching, even when Hades sweeps by the doorway—only curiosity.
And as we walk by each room, we pick up a following, until the whole of the Syndicate seems to be breathing down my neck. But after a flight of stairs and a long corridor, we all stop outside a huge set of doors with a three-headed dog at the center of it.
Cerberus, I presume.
