The Benetti estate was surrounded. Armed guards stood outside the meeting room, stiff and silent, rifles resting near their ribs. Inside, the air was cold, thick with cigar smoke and the low mutter of important men trying to sound calm.
Lucas stood at the head of the long table, a glass of something dark in one hand, sleeves rolled, veins on his forearm and a medical patch on his cheek. He didn't sit. He rarely did when he was pissed.
Claire was seated, not far from him but not too close either. Elena was beside her, half-listening, half-scanning the room. Across the table, Anton sat back with his arms crossed, bored but watchful.
And then Luna walked in. Late, lipstick-perfect and dressed in a black jumpsuit and heels. Her hair was pulled back, tight and severe, no trace of softness. She smiled evilly as she walked in.
Claire watched her.
