Page 30 of Silent Schemes
Photos, documents, strings connecting points like a conspiracy theorist's wet dream.
But this isn't madness—this is methodical, organized, brilliant, and terrifying.
Because I'm up there.
My photo, multiple photos actually, spanning years.
"Been watching you for two years," he says, moving to stand beside my section of the wall. "You killed the Dmitri brothers. Made it look like they turned on each other. Masterful work." His finger traces to another photo. "Castrated the Romano heir before you slit his throat. Poetic justice for a rapist." Another photo. "The Nakamura job—everyone thinks that was poison,but it was an air embolism, wasn't it? Harder to detect, more personal."
I should feel exposed. Violated.
Instead, I feel something else entirely.
Seen.
"You're artwork with a body count," he continues, and there's something like admiration in his voice. "Every kill tells a story. Every death has meaning. You're not just a weapon—you're an artist."
"I'm my father's tool," I correct, but the words taste like ash.
"No." He turns to face me fully. "Tools don't think. They don't choose. You chose to save me last night."
"That was?—"
"And before that, at the casino. You could have signaled your backup. Could have had me surrounded. Instead, you came alone."
He's too close now.
I can see the pulse in his throat, could calculate exactly how much pressure it would take to crush his windpipe.
But I don't move.
"You want to know why I haven't killed you?" he asks, voice dropping lower. "Because I've been waiting two years to meet the woman behind the reputation. And you're so much more than I expected."
"You don't know me."
"I know you protect your sister. Maya, sixteen, currently at St. Catherine's Academy. I know you've been siphoning money from your father's accounts—small amounts, nothing he'd notice, but enough to build an escape fund. I know you hate what you are, but you're too good at it to stop."
My hand moves without conscious thought, grabbing for the knife that isn't there.
He catches my wrist, gentle but unbreakable.
"I know," he continues, "that you're planning to kill him. Your father. Not today, not tomorrow, but someday. When Maya is safe. When you have enough power. And I know you're wondering if I might be what gives you that power."
"You're wrong."
"Your pulse says otherwise." His thumb presses against my wrist where my heartbeat hammers traitorously fast. "Here's what's going to happen. You're going to try to seduce me, because that's your mission. And I'm going to let you, because I want to see how far you'll go. But we both know how this ends."
"With you dead."
"With both of us destroyed." He releases my wrist. "The question is whether we take everyone else down with us."
The challenge in his eyes makes something dangerous wake up in my chest.
This is wrong.
All wrong.
He's supposed to be a mark, a target, a dead man walking.
