“I can’t believe you keep priceless art and jewelry in a plain old storage unit,” he remarked before pushing up the sliding door. They’d made it to Paris and went straight to the storage.

Rebekah shrugged and pulled the string to turn on the lightbulb. “Better to hide things in ordinary places rather than in an elaborate safe I can’t transport. I’ve kept these here for eight years and haven’t had any issues. I paid rent in advance.” She walked in, maneuvering through the boxes toward the rear of the space, looking for something small, portable, and above all, valuable.

“Let’s see…” Dison mused, crossing his arms and leaning on the jamb. “I spot a Mabel Alvarez…an antique silverware set…a gold crown…”

She bent over to retrieve a box under a stack of vintage fashion brochures from the Victorian era. “You know Mabel Alvarez’s work?”

“I’m not a complete dolt when it comes to art, no.” She heard the smile in his voice as he said, “Such as the view I’m taking right now of you bending over. A work of art in its purest form.”

She straightened and turned around, blowing the dust off the box. “You are wicked.”

“Guilty.”

Setting the box on a flat surface, she opened it. “Ah, good. Here it is.”

“We could sell several of these items for a brilliant payday.”

“The surest way to stumble into deep trouble is to get greedy. Besides,” she said, lifting the wrapped item and unfurling the cloth to reveal a jeweled dagger, “this will fetch a pretty price.” The jewels caught the dull light, boasting its beauty with a mere turn of her hand. It never ceased the amaze her, a magic all its own with its attractive, deep red rubies and vibrant yellow diamonds circling the base, a contrast to it’s deadly, fatal sharp end that caught the light as though dipped with a diamond point. It was said to be cursed if used. And the last night it was in someone’s hand, it murdered a prince.

Even Dison was hypnotized. “Whoa.”

“Precisely.” She sighed, reluctant to let this extraordinary piece go, though she did it a great disservice by keeping it in a storage unit, regardless of its curse. After rewrapping it, she tucked in the breast pocket of her coat, not even trusting her purse to carry it.

“What next?” Dison next, pulling down the door and securing the lock.

“Contacting a buyer. The buyer, that is.”

“The buyer? Through the online black market forum?”

“Actually, we can skip that part.”

“How?”

She pushed the door to the outside parking lot. “I already know someone who would love to get his hands on this dagger. And he lives in Paris.”

“But?” he asked dubiously.

“Well, he’s almost impossible to get an audience with. His secretary is militant with his schedule.”

“Is there no avenue to reach out to him directly?”

“No. His name is Reginald Klaus. He owns multiple large corporations and an obscene amount of real estate. Very busy man. Very targeted man, both personally and professionally. The eternal bachelor. Has never avowed another. Likes rare, expensive cars and even rarer antique weaponry. Has a collection of swords, knives, even throwing stars, but I know he has nothing like this.”

“So you’ve dealt with him before?”

“Once. He’s only interested in weapons. And I didn’t want to sell the dagger unless I had to—”

Dison turned in front of her and grasped her arms. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

She looked up into his eyes, his guilt coming off in waves. “I’m sure we need to do this. Unless you can think of something else?”

He sighed, dropping his hands.

Back at their quaint hotel room, she made the call to Reginald’s office. His secretary memorized every acquaintance Reginald ever made and so when Rebekah gave her name, Muriel greeted her with subtly cool recognition. “Yes, Miss Howard. He is not available until next month. He’s leaving for a business trip soon.”

“It’s very urgent I speak to him.” She couldn’t tell Muriel why or what for. Just because Reginald trusted her didn’t mean Rebekah could. Especially now. “Can you deliver a message to him for me? He’ll want to meet with me I’m sure. He’s the first one I’m reaching out to and,” she added with a trace of nonchalance, “if he misses out on this opportunity, I’ll tell him he can speak to you about that.”

Muriel caught the meaning. “Very well. What’s the message?”

“Tell him it’s regarding the Prince of Rahta murder. I’ll be in Paris for two days, awaiting a response, then I’ll move on.”

A pause. “I’ll relay the message.”

It didn’t sound as though she would do so with any haste, but that was just Muriel’s tone for everything: nothing was nearly as urgent as anyone said it was until Reginald confirmed it.

“Thank you, Muriel.” She hung up, biting the corner of her lip, hoping she was right about Reginald’s depth of interest. “Now we wait.”

Dison was leaning on the side of the window, hands in pockets, looking down at the street below. Tense, brows drawn. “How long should we give him?”

“A day. In the meantime, we can try and relax and not stare out the window brooding?”

When he didn’t seem to catch the fact she was mocking him, she pushed up and went to him, wrapping her arms around his waist from behind. “What’s on your mind?”

A rhetorical question, but a prompt for him to get anything off his chest.

“How I can possibly salvage what’s been done,” he finally answered. Turning around, he sat on the edge of the sill and held her wrists loosely. “Regarding Kristof. How I can lessen this vengeance. I know a large part of it is because Kristof was family, but he was also a fuck-up. Ivan knew it. Ignored it. It bothered him, but he wanted so badly for Kristof to be his heir, he dismissed his behavior as passionate and ambitious, not volatile and cruel. I’m beginning to think he’s madder at the fact he doesn’t have a male heir to pass his legacy down to when he dies.”

“And you’re thinking you can get off his death list by…?”

He huffed. “Finding a suitable replacement. It’ll never work.”

“Who would he possibly consider over his own nephew?”

“No one. It was a stupid consideration.”

She twisted her lips, thinking out loud. “You know…you’re on the right track actually. The Centurias was made for this kind of complex problem. Alliances. Merges. Truces. Perhaps you could scout someone Ivan might consider a good runner-up to his lousy nephew. Find him a protégé he could trust and let into his fold.”

The charged air around them calmed and lessened. Dison cupped her face with both hands, shaking his head. “A bit of a reach, but worth trying. Perhaps in six months Ivan will give up his search on us, and I can still make amends.” He kissed her quick and hard. “You were made for me.”

She wrapped her arms around him, relieved some of his burdensome thoughts had lifted. “I only live to serve—”

Interrupted by the text notification of her mobile, she jerked her attention to it, then looked at him.

“Reginald?” he asked. “That soon?”

She rushed to pick up her mobile and read the message:

“Was that him?” Dison asked.

“His secretary.” She grinned.

“He wants to buy the dagger?”

The hope in his voice made her falter a bit in her enthusiasm. “Well, not exactly. It just says to be at the Verdyn museum at seven o’clock tomorrow. A charity gala.”

“We need to attend this fancy party just to speak to him? I don’t like it. You and I in a public place with dozens of people that could recognize us.”

“Who?” she demanded to know. “We have to take the chance. Besides, we’re in Paris. Not London.” Her shoulders sagged. “We’re going.”

“No, we’re not.” The argument was fruitless on his end and he knew it.

“We are!”

“I said no.”

“We have to go shopping. I need a dress.” She grabbed her coat of the hook and started putting it on. “We have half an hour before the department store closes.”

“Rebekah. Wait. Let’s talk about this.” He caught his coat after she flung it. “I need to know more.”

She opened the door. “He’ll give me at least a quarter million.”

He shoved his arms in the coat and followed. “You look fantastic in blue…”