“As if he’d tell me,” the man answers with a snort.
The door that leads to the basement swings shut behind him, and it’s only then that I can exhale.
Phoenix is safe… for now.
“Won’t you take the call in your study?” he asks from behind.
I cast him a glance over the shoulder. “Kitchen’s preferable. Impermeable floors.”
He grunts, but out of a need to answer rather than from an inkling of understanding. I know this because he doesn’t react to the veiled threat.
But then, Crius wouldn’t be so reckless as to despatch someone he valued to my home, but that doesn’t mean I won’t send him a message.
Making a mental note to install guns to my most frequently used playroom furniture, I push open the kitchen door.
The outside patio lights provide dim illumination, which suits my purposes. I walk across the white floor tiles, which are waterproof but with white grouting, which are not. Fortunately, the years I spent murdering this bastard’s business rivals has prepared me for such messes.
“Where’s the light switch?” the man asks.
“Not necessary, but do close the door,” I drawl. “This conversation won’t take long.”
After doing so, he finds a patch of wall and leans against it with his arms folded across his chest.
My jaw tightens. “Did Crius provide you with a device with which he and I can converse?”
“Oh, right.” He pushes off the wall, joins me at the counter, and pulls out a tablet. “Here we are.”
As he fires up the video conferencing app, I slide my hand beneath the counter for one of the many weapons I placed within strategic spots around the house.
My fingers close around a knife, which I suppose is better than a gun that Phoenix might hear.
The app rings, and Crius takes his time answering. It’s a petty form of power play, considering he sent one of his employees to break into my residence. One of his many annoying habits that will lead to his slow and well-deserved demise.
When the man raises his hand to shut off the application and try again, the screen changes to a gentleman’s study of mahogany shelves laden with leather-bound books.
Crius Vanir sits comfortably in a leather armchair. He wears a black velvet smoking jacket and a white cravat. At fifty-eight years old, he’s still handsome. The wispy blond hair and dark circles beneath his twinkling blue eyes gives him the air of an academic or even a Shakespearean thespian.
Pretentious bastard.
Beneath his genteel veneer is a man who cares nothing for art or education or even humanity. His facade of a family man devoted to his wife and legitimate children is just a front for one of London’s most notorious sex traffickers.
“Marius, my boy,” he says with a genial smile. “I’ve been concerned.”
“Are you so starved for my attention that you would spend a lackey to interrupt my weekend?” I ask with a bored sigh.
Crius glances from side to side as though trying to see what’s off camera. “And my messenger?”
“Here, boss.” The man walks around the counter to make his appearance.
“Wonderful.” Crius grins. “Did you discover why Mr. Segul failed to answer my call?”
I move behind the man, just as he chuckles, and raise the knife.
“You see, boss—”
The blade slices his throat, making him fall forward onto the kitchen counter. I wrap my arms around his broad torso and ease him gently to the floor so he doesn’t make a thud to awaken Phoenix.
“Oh, Marius,” Crius says with a sigh that almost sounds disappointed. “Must you always ruin what belongs to your father?”