Witt’s training during hand-to-hand combat replayed in her mind. Never take things personally.
No. This was personal, very personal.
Paul’s laughter died, realization dawning on him. He looked at her deeper, reading her anger. “That explains Attah,” he mused softly.
She didn’t respond.
“He was valuable to me, you know. I even paid good money to get him off on those charges. I had members of the jury in my pocket to ensure no conviction.”
“Then why have the Council dispatch the prosecutor?”
“I like to hedge my bets. And I wanted to see just how much the Council wanted me. Always have a plan B, dear girl.”
Silence had always been her best quality. She needed it more than anything now. She kept reminding herself not to react. Don’t be foolhardy, Nena. She struggled to believe that Paul being here was not a mirage or a nightmare, that he was really here in flesh and blood, because up until this point—even after Attah Walrus—she’d never truly believed Paul could still be alive.
Her silence was unnerving, and Paul cast cautious looks at the caged tiger in front of him. He looked back at all the unknowing people inside. He stepped to the glass railing, looking down. She could push him, she thought. Right now. She gripped her hands behind her back.
“Your new family—these Knights—are good, generous, powerful people. You’ve received a second chance, a better chance. You’re not wallowing in the dirt, wed to some poor goat-herding chieftain. You sit atop the throne of modern-day African royalty.”
He waited a long beat. When he spoke next, he dropped all traces of earlier joviality. “You would do well to let bygones be bygones. You have made your point with Attah. Don’t you agree?”
This was the Paul she knew and loathed. Her mouth twitched. So many things she wanted to say. Attah’s death was not enough. Not by a long shot.
“Aninyeh, let this pass. Your sister loves my son and vice versa. My strongholds in Gabon and links with its government and other factions will further solidify the Tribe’s power. But if you tell anyone who I am and alter the scenario . . .” He sighed, looking at her solemnly. “It will all go to shit for the Tribe . . . for your family.” He gave her a long, pointed look that speared her all the way through. “You know what I can do, Aninyeh.”
When she refused to answer, he nodded, taking his leave.
Only she knew how dangerous Paul was. Only she knew the gravity of his presence. To drive home his implicit threat, he went to Elin, bending to kiss her cheek. He moved to Delphine, taking her hand and feathering it with a light peck. Delphine smiled, warming up to him. He clapped Noble on his shoulder as he grabbed his outstretched hand to pull him upright and grasp him in a warm embrace. They shook hands again and snapped their intertwined fingers. Then, while holding her father, he turned to her, still alone on the balcony. He smiled at her, a smile as treacherous as she remembered.
Beside Paul, her dad turned, spotting Nena on the balcony and breaking into his familiar, dashing smile. Noble gave her a boisterous wave, beckoning for her to join them. She shook her head, begging off. He waved at her in a joking forget you then gesture, mistaking her actions as one of her usual solitary moods.
She tore her gaze from her dad, hating how close he was standing next to the man who’d killed her papa. Paul, alive and more well than he ever deserved to be, was watching her with a calculating smirk playing on his lips. Paul’s message was plain and simple, a reminder of how easily he could touch the most important people in her life again.
But now Paul also had something important to him. Didn’t he? Her eyes shifted to the young man with his arms wrapped around her sister.
He had his son.
40
BEFORE
The woman in the fur coat is the first to break our three-way stare down. Maybe she reads the determination on my face, a look that says I will not give these items up without a fight. I know I can do it, fight . . . until the death. Once you have killed your first, another may not be as difficult.
“Monsieur, it’s fine. She’s picking up items I asked for.”
“Madame? How so? You two did not come in together.”
She turns to me with a hint of a smile. “But darling, you need to get the new ones. Not the testers.” She steps to the shelf, picking up a box of Hugo, and holds it out to me.
“Madame, no. She is nothing but a misérable, a vagabonde. The police can handle her accordingly.”
Wretch and vagrant. Two more names to add to my growing list.