Page 101 of Princess of Vengeance

Soon, I’ll be back with my men for good.

33

QUINN

“So that’s our proposal,”Imogen finishes, her voice echoing slightly in Rafael’s cavernous storehouse.

The place smells like dust, machine oil, and the faint metallic tang of gunpowder. Crates stacked to the ceiling form narrow corridors between them, and I’d be willing to bet that each one is filled with the kinds of goods that would make any cop’s day if they ever got a warrant to search this place.

My heart pounds as I watch Rafael’s face. He’s giving nothing away, those intelligent eyes scanning both of us like we’re just another set of merchandise he’s evaluating. Unlike Elliot’s brute force approach to everything, Rafael is calculating, seemingly always running odds in his head.

“Let me make sure I understand,” he says finally, leaning against a wooden crate marked ‘Agriculture Equipment’ that I’m positive contains no such thing. “You want to take Malcolm out. Kill him. Then dissolve the Syndicate entirely and go back to operating independently.”

“That’s right,” I say, holding his gaze. “No more strings. No more votums. No more blood debts.”

Rafael rubs his stubbled jaw. “You know, when you joined the Syndicate, I had a feeling about you.” His lips curl intosomething that’s not quite a smile. “It’s been a little like watching someone toss a hand grenade into a crowded room and waiting for the explosion.”

I tense, ready to defend myself, but he continues before I can.

“I still don’t know if that’s a good thing or a bad thing,” he says, studying me. “The Syndicate existed for years before you showed up. We had some turnover, sure, but the structure stayed the same. Malcolm at the top, with the rest of us following orders. Now you’ve been with us what, a couple months? And you’re already planning a coup.”

His tone isn’t accusatory—more curious, like he’s trying to figure out what makes me tick. I know every word matters right now. Rafael could be a powerful ally or a deadly enemy, and he’s balanced on the knife-edge between the two.

“It wasn’t my plan to shake things up,” I tell him honestly. “But Malcolm forced my hand when he made me marry him.”

“And before that?” Rafael raises an eyebrow. “You were perfectly content to be part of his organization? Somehow I doubt that.”

I don’t flinch from his gaze. “No. I never wanted to be part of the Syndicate. The opportunity presented itself as the lesser of two evils. That’s what I thought at the time, anyway.”

Rafael pushes away from the crate and paces a few steps. His hands are in his pockets, but there’s tension in his shoulders that wasn’t there before.

“I’ve been in the Syndicate for a long time,” he says, his voice thoughtful. “I’ve spent years playing by Malcolm’s rules, only to watch him bend those same rules whenever it suited him.”

He stops and turns to face us again. “My mother died because of him, you know. Not directly—he didn’t pull the trigger. But she was collateral damage in one of his operations. And his solution?” Rafael laughs, a bitter sound. “Offer me a place at the table. As if power could replace family.”

I nod, understanding all too well how Malcolm works. “He did the same to all of us. He used our grief and our losses to bind us to him.”

“But that’s just it,” Rafael says, his eyes suddenly sharp. “I allowed it. We all did. I told myself the power was worth it, that my mother’s death shouldn’t be for nothing. We all made that same bet—that the Syndicate offered protection, resources, connections we couldn’t get on our own.”

He runs a hand through his hair, his face troubled. “But what has it really given me? The illusion of freedom while Malcolm pulls the strings? Safety, as long as I follow his rules? I built my whole empire on calculated risks, on beating the odds. And then I handed control of it all to him.”

The warehouse falls silent as his words hang in the air. I hold my breath, sensing we’re close to winning him over but not wanting to push too hard.

“I felt the same way,” Imogen says softly, breaking the silence. “After Layla died, I was… broken. Malcolm swooped in with his offer, and it felt like a lifeline. A way to make her death mean something.”

She crosses her arms, and her expression hardens. “But that’s how he keeps us all under his thumb. He finds us at our weakest moment and offers what looks like strength. By the time we realize the cost, we’re already trapped.”

Rafael nods slowly. “And the others? Elliot? Cassandra?”

“They’re in,” I confirm. “We’re just waiting on Owen. Which may be a bit difficult, if he’s still holding a grudge about what I did to his nose.”

“Imogen will handle him,” Rafael says with a knowing smirk. “He’ll follow her anywhere.”

Imogen rolls her eyes but doesn’t deny it. “We need numbers on our side. Owen may be predictable, but he’s still a vote.”

“And then what?” Rafael asks, looking over at me again. “We kill Malcolm, dissolve the Syndicate, and all go our separate ways? Just like that?”

“Just like that,” I say firmly. “No power struggles. No new hierarchy. Just freedom.”

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