Page 283 of From Rakes to Riches

Raphael waved his hand, absolving him of all that. “We Fauves do not follow without question. We are predators, not sheep, and we must be cunning. Question everything.”

“As you say.” Marco’s head dipped in deference.

The hierarchy of the Fauves was not unlike those of the wolves. Intricate, subtle, and yet, brutally uncomplicated. There were no figureheads. No pomp or ceremony. There was the uncontestable leader of the pack. The alpha and his subordinates.

Hewas the one who led the hunters to their prey. And he was the one who took first blood. He claimed the greatest bounty before the rest of the pack fell upon it like scavengers.

But as the leader, it was incumbent upon him to provide, to remain uncontested. Or, if he was challenged, he must meet it with all the dominant ferocity of any king of beasts.

He had to win. Every time. To prove he was fit to lead.

That he was a man to be followed.

The mantle threatened to smother him sometimes.

But what else could he do? What else did he know?

Nothing.

This was all he was. All he had. A legacy of vice and villainy and a lifetime of lies. He was a man whose past was nothing but shifting shadows and secrets, and his future was?—

An endless wasteland coated with the same.

Battles and blood, until one day a lesser beast would challenge him...and tear his throat out.

He’d have to.

Raphael was not the sort of man to submit to the sovereignty of another.

“Are you second-guessing the plan?” Marco queried, peering up from beneath the lowered brim of the hat. “If this goes awry, there will be blood.”

“There’s always blood,” he quipped. “This will be no different.”

Blood. Both red and blue.

He was playing a dangerous game, pitting his enemies and allies against each other.

A game where there would be victors, but no one truly won.

“No second thoughts,” he clarified. “All has been prepared except?—”

A flash of light struck him blind for a moment and he winced, blinking rapidly. When he opened his eyes again, it was gone, leaving a disorienting shadow in his vision as if he’d glanced directly at the sun.

Once his vision cleared, he found the culprit immediately upon searching over Marco’s shoulder.

The sun had reflected off binoculars peeking over a shoulder-high hedge.

No, not binoculars. A shiny gold pair of opera glasses.

Gold, like the lovely ringlets surrounding said item. A charming coiffure held in place by butterfly combs and garnished with baby’s breath.

Detective Eddard Sharpe would be proud of this intrepid investigator. He was often quoted in his books as saying that when a necessary implement was not readily at hand, a true investigator improvised.

Opera glasses of all things. Raphael couldn’t fight the tremor of a smile softening the corners of his lips.

Christ, but Mercy Goode could not be more endearing.

She’d, no doubt, donned her taupe, high-necked coat in the hopes of blending with the crowd. However, the light color actually caused her to stand out amongst people swathed in grey or black wool jackets against what had once been intemperate weather.

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