The car rolled through the wrought iron gates of the Roman estate thirty minutes later. As always, the place looked like wealth had thrown up all over it, pristine hedges trimmed within millimeters of perfection, marble pillars that served no purpose other than screaming excess, and security that could start a private war if my father so chose.
I got out without waiting for Niko and made my way through the east garden entrance. I knew exactly where he'd be, afternoon hours were always reserved for indulgence. His own version of a king's court.
The outdoor lounge was bathed in gold and shadow, sunlight filtering through the tall linen-draped cabanas. Expensive teak furniture sprawled across a stone terrace lined with heat lamps, and maids moved like silent ghosts, setting down crystal flutes of a rare, limited-edition Louis XIII Black Pearl cognac. Worth over $40,000 a bottle.
And they were laughing.
My father. And another man I recognized instantly.
Mr. Stanley.
Of course.
