Juliette Adams glanced out the window, seeing only a rectangle of the stone facade of the office building across the street. The weather was typical English fare—gray, chilly, drizzling. She always wondered how the British ever managed to summon an ounce or two of cheer in such a gloomy place.

She glanced to where Rose Hancock sat next to her. One of Rose’s husbands, Weston Anderson, was pacing the floor behind them, while Juliette’s own husband, Devon, was holding up the wall farthest from the door, his arms crossed, his expression pure scowl. She’d asked him to remain at home, but Devon wouldn’t hear of it. He wasn’t about to send her into the lion’s den with only Rose and Weston at her side. Probably because Devon considered them as much a threat to her as the Admiralty.

After all, up until a few months ago, Rose had been actively working against Juliette as part of the purists. Not to mention blowing stuff up in an effort to hurt those Juliette cared about.

So yeah, Devon was probably right to be concerned, even though she and Rose had declared a truce and formed an alliance. It was a shaky one, but it was an alliance just the same.

None of them had spoken since entering the small conference space. When she considered it, she realized they hadn’t spoken much at all since taking off from Logan Airport early this morning. Apart from determining their roles in this meeting and what could and what shouldn’t be said, they hadn’t spoken more than a few words on the private jet that brought them to London. Each of them lost in their own thoughts.

It stood to reason. All of them were tense, anxious about the journey across the ocean. There were too many unknown variables, too much at stake.

Rose’s other husband, Marek, had set up this meeting with the new admiral of Britain with a lot of help from his curmudgeonly grandmother. Jane Dell, a former British intelligence asset, hadn’t exactly been happy to intervene on Marek’s behalf after he’d chosen his American roots over his English ones, joining the Trinity Masters rather than the Masters’ Admiralty.

Masters’ Admiralty. Trinity Masters.

Juliette sighed as she considered the two ancient secret societies. Both seemed to have similar goals—nay, missions—when it came to protecting their countries and striving to better them.

The Trinity Masters had formed at the same time the founding fathers were forging a new government in their young country. Juliette supposed that, in hindsight, it stood to reason her forefathers would create the secret society based on the preexisting one in Britain. However, two hundred years and the veil of secrecy set in place by former Grand Masters had actually erased the other society’s existence from America’s memory.

Juliette was the Grand Master now, and even she hadn’t learned of the existence of the Masters’ Admiralty until a few months earlier, when Weston discovered that an evil faction functioning within the Trinity Masters had attacked and sunk an Admiralty ship sailing under a neutral flag during World War II.

The faction within the Trinity Masters—the purists—had learned of a ship fleeing the war, and sailing to the Caribbean from Europe, loaded with treasure. They’d attacked it with the intention of killing the crew, stealing the priceless artwork, and then sinking it.

That dastardly plan was spoiled when it was discovered that the real treasure aboard the Esperanza wasn’t just the antiques and artwork, but also the children of members of the Masters’ Admiralty.

Juliette couldn’t say the plan was spoiled. The purists still stole the art, and they definitely sank the ship—with the children aboard.

It sickened Juliette to know that anyone in the Trinity Masters could commit such a terrible crime. She’d been raised to believe the Trinity Masters were the protectors of their country, the innovators, the problem solvers, the creators. They called only the best and brightest to the altar to serve, and their membership had been responsible for driving culture, making strides in technology and medicine, as well as keeping the country afloat financially and politically.

“They’re making us wait as an insult.” Weston halted his limping pace to stand by Rose’s chair.

“Of course they are,” Juliette said.

“How long are you willing to sit here like this?” Weston asked.

“As long as it takes.”

Devon had gone ballistic when she’d told him of her intentions to fly to London to meet with the new British admiral. After all, their last communication with the Masters’ Admiralty couldn’t be considered anything other than a threat.

Some things cannot be forgiven.

They were right, of course. Regardless of the decades that had passed since the sinking of that ship, the purists had continued to heap insult upon injury by selling the stolen artwork for profit. Just like the Trinity Masters had legacies—children who were initiated into the society like their parents before them—the purists did too.

They had instilled the need to safeguard their secrets in future generations as well as sharing the location of the hidden booty—in a series of tunnels attached to the Trinity Masters’ headquarters.

Which made the fact Juliette was sitting with Rose and Weston in this meeting all the more significant.

Raised by purists, Rose and Weston, as well as Weston’s brother, Caden, may have been indoctrinated to the seedy underground faction through unspeakable cruelty and abuse, but they had still protected the crimes of their parents and their ancestors.

Or at least they had. Until Weston faked his own death to go undercover to expose his parents.

The door opened and a woman entered. At first glance, one might not take much notice of her—she wasn’t particularly tall, with a slim build and medium-length straight dark hair. Nothing about her physical stature stood out until Juliette looked at her face. She sucked in a deep breath.

The woman was a warrior. Marek had related to them that Britain had a new admiral, but he hadn’t alluded to the fact that the leader was a woman. Given Juliette’s own role as Grand Master of the Trinity Masters, female leadership obviously shouldn’t come as a surprise to her.

However, one look at this woman’s face proved she was a force to be reckoned with and for the first time since entering the room, Juliette felt the slightest niggle of unease that their hopes of making reparations wouldn’t be well received.

Juliette and Rose stood from their seats as Weston actually positioned himself directly next to—and a little in front of—Rose. Devon remained by the wall, though he stood straighter now, his posture daring anyone in the room to make one wrong move. She shot him a “down boy” look. This meeting was going to be hard enough. She didn’t need Devon throwing a big dose of hostility into the mix.

She’d come to try to establish a peace between them and the Masters’ Admiralty, not declare outright war.

Weston tried to edge Rose farther behind him, and Rose narrowed her eyes at her husband. She clearly didn’t appreciate his suddenly protective stance. Juliette would have laughed at the man for his attempt if the majority of her attention wasn’t locked on the woman standing on the other side of the table.

“You’re Juliette Adams,” the woman said, looking her up and down with no pretense of politeness.

“I am. And you must be the new admiral of Britain?”

The woman scowled and rolled her eyes. “No. I’m Lorelei Madden, the vice admiral. The new admiral will be along in a moment.”

Juliette was equal parts relieved and impressed. She’d prefer to take her chances with another admiral. Lorelei was no doubt a valuable asset to their organization, but she didn’t want to have to deal with her at the top.

Then Juliette glanced in Rose’s direction and realized that she had brought her own bulldog. Rose was staring down the vice admiral with the same powerful tilt in her chin and unfaltering gaze.

“And you are?” Lorelei asked, directing her question to Rose.

“Rose Hancock. And this is my husband, Weston Anderson.”

Lorelei’s attention quickly diverted from Rose to Weston.

“The famous Wesley Derrick.”

“Not anymore. Now, it’s Wes Anderson.” Weston repeated Rose’s introduction. “Wesley was the name your knight Tristan saddled me with when he was hiding me here.”

Many years earlier, the Andersons, Weston’s parents, had tried to murder him and failed. However, Weston had pretended otherwise, escaping first to Canada to recover from life-threatening injuries before traveling on to England to request asylum with the Masters’ Admiralty.

Then Weston added, “I was sorry to hear about Tristan’s death. He was a good man. A good friend. I’m going to miss him.”

Lorelei nodded, but didn’t seem moved by Weston’s sympathy.

The words cold fish drifted through Juliette’s mind.

“Why are you here?” Lorelei asked Juliette.

“I believe I made my intentions clear when requesting this meeting through Jane Dell. I wish to meet with the new admiral.”

“I understand that, but the admiral is very busy and—”

Before Lorelei could say more, the door opened once again.

“What the h—” Weston muttered under his breath as Rose gasped with surprise.

Juliette worked hard to school her features when Tristan Knight entered the room, followed by one of the most breathtakingly beautiful women she’d ever seen.

“I heard you’d died,” Weston said, clearly awestruck.

Tristan gave his old friend a crooked grin. “Rumors of my death have been greatly exaggerated, but necessary. Tristan Knight, for all intents and purposes, is dead.”

“Oookay,” Weston drawled. “So who does that make you now?”

“Arthur. The new admiral of Britain.”

The tightness in Juliette’s shoulders loosened as anxiety gave way to relief. Tristan had helped them uncover the purists’ deceit, and he’d seemed somewhat sympathetic to what Juliette faced as the unsavory details they’d discovered were brought to light. And while he’d never wavered in his loyalty to the Masters’ Admiralty, he had proven himself to be reasonable and kind.

“And this,” Tristan—Arthur—said, pointing to the woman next to him, “is my wife, Sophia.”

Juliette stepped around the table with her hand outstretched. “It’s very nice to meet you. I’m Juliette Adams, the Grand Master of—”

“The Trinity Masters.” Sophia’s tone was cool and not at all welcoming. She clearly didn’t trust Juliette. “I know exactly who you are.” While Arthur might be receptive to their apologies and explanations, Sophia would be much harder to sway. And Lorelei might be damned near impossible.

Juliette quickly finished the introductions, and then Arthur gestured for all of them to take a seat. Devon remained where he was, but Arthur didn’t appear bothered. “At ease, Asher.”

Devon’s shoulders relaxed slightly, but he didn’t join them.

As the rest of them took their seats, Juliette allowed her gaze to sweep down Arthur’s right side, to where his arm used to be.

She glanced next to her and noticed Rose and Weston also sneaking curious peeks.

Either Arthur had noticed their glances or he’d grown accustomed to questions regarding his injury, because he addressed the issue outright. “I lost my arm the day our former admiral died.”

It didn’t take a genius to figure out that those two things were connected, which meant the old admiral hadn’t merely died. He’d been killed. Juliette gave him a sympathetic nod. “I’m very sorry, Tristan. For both tragedies.”

“Arthur,” Lorelei corrected quickly, drawing Juliette’s attention to her face. She’d been mistaken in her previous assumption that Lorelei was cold. For just a moment, Juliette caught a flash of sadness in the woman’s eyes. Lorelei was still mourning the loss of her old boss. “If we’re finished with the niceties, the admiral and I have a very busy schedule, so why don’t you tell us what brings you here today?”

“I wanted to tell you in person that the Andersons are dead.”

Arthur’s gaze flew to Weston. “Your parents? The purists?”

Weston nodded. “Someone blew up their yacht while they were onboard. All three of them are dead.”

“Who blew up the boat?” Lorelei asked.

“We don’t know,” Weston said, “but I was there when it happened. Rose and I both were.”

“So you’re here as eyewitnesses? To convince us this explosion really happened?” Lorelei scoffed at the idea. “Forgive me, Rose, but weren’t you and Weston’s brother working with your foster parents to conceal the murder of dozens of children, and then profit from the crimes of your ancestors by selling artwork that rightfully belongs to the Masters’ Admiralty? You’re hardly someone whose word we would trust.”

Juliette sighed. The Masters’ Admiralty had done their homework. They knew more than she realized. “She didn’t know about the children. Rose was working within the purists’ organization in order to bring them to justice for the stolen artwork.” It had taken Juliette months to convince herself of the truth of that. Sometimes she still struggled with it. She hoped Arthur and Lorelei would accept it more easily.

Lorelei scoffed.

“It’s true,” Juliette said. “We’ve come here today in hopes of putting all our cards on the table. Of making amends for what was done in the past. In addition to letting you know about the Andersons, we’re also returning the remaining stolen artwork. A container ship was loaded with all of it and it set sail this morning. We expect it will dock in London in just a few days.”

“All the art?” Sophia asked.

Juliette shook her head. “No. Sadly, some of it has been sold. We are trying to track down the buyers, but that will take time.”

Sophia’s eyes narrowed. “There was a great deal more on that boat than simply artwork.”

And now they were getting down to the heart of the matter. Because no matter what Juliette did or said, there was nothing she could do to make up for the murder of all those children.

“I know that. We have learned that one child survived.”

Sophia leaned forward. “What? Who?”

“Eileen Mayweather.”

Sophia looked over at Arthur, her eyes wide with excitement. “That was my great-great aunt.”

“She was my grandmother,” Weston said.

“And a member of the Trinity Masters,” Juliette added.

Sophia stiffened. “You mean she was forced to become a member because she was kidnapped as a child and kept from her real family. She should have been in the Admiralty. Her rightful place was stolen from her. What about her brother and sister?”

“Sadly, it was confirmed that she was the only child to survive when the ship was sunk,” Juliette said.

Sophia closed her eyes, crossing herself before she turned to look at Weston, tilting her head as she studied his face. “My father will want to meet you. You should be a member of the Masters’ Admiralty.”

Rose shook her head. “He’s my husband. We’re bound together with another, Marek, called to the altar of the Trinity Masters. That’s where we belong.”

Sophia’s eyes narrowed. “Marek should also be with us. He was a legacy of our society.”

“A legacy of both societies. Marek made his decision.” Juliette attempted to keep her tone even and soft. She hadn’t come here to debate membership.

“He might not understand who you people really are,” Sophia said. She stopped when Arthur reached out and placed his hand on hers, softly whispering, “Princess.”

Arthur leaned back in his chair, his gaze locked with Juliette’s. “Marek and Wes have pledged themselves to the Trinity Masters and they’ve taken their third. I understand what that means. Believe me, if Wes weren’t already married, I would demand that he move here to take his place amongst us.”

Devon spoke up. “I think you’re all forgetting that Wes’ grandmother and mother weren’t just members of the Trinity Masters. They were purists.”

“You’re trying to blame someone who was the sole survivor of a horrific attack and then raised by the people who would have murdered her?” Sophia’s Italian accent deepened.

“No, but it’s important to remember that Eileen and her daughter, Victoria, knew more than we did—they knew the Masters’ Admiralty was real, knew about the deaths of those children. They knew it all…and said nothing.” Devon had lapsed into his mild-mannered tone, which he used to cover up his real feelings. It was what allowed him to work so well for the agency.

“They were, how do you say in English, brainwashed. You’re blaming the victims,” Sophia insisted.

Juliette wasn’t sure she disagreed with that assessment. She’d heard a few stories about the abuse Weston, Caden, and their foster sister, Rose, had suffered, and while their mother, Victoria, hadn’t directly participated in the physical aspects of it, she’d condoned it, agreed with it.

“I assure you Victoria wasn’t brainwashed,” Rose said. “She was just as evil as her husbands.”

Sophia’s face reddened with anger. “My father will never forgive this. Reparations must be paid. Where is your brother, Weston?”

Weston shook his head. “Caden is…Caden is dead.”

Juliette noticed the slight wobble in his voice.

“How?” Sophia asked.

“He was shot and killed,” Rose replied, her tone wooden, monotone, and Juliette wondered about it. Rose and Caden had been in a relationship, and she’d lost her mind after Caden was shot, setting off a bomb meant to kill several other members of the Trinity Masters.

Sophia turned to her husband. “Rome’s legacies have been stolen from us.”

“Rome?” Juliette asked, the previous discussion forgotten in an instant as she was faced with something much more horrifying.

Sophia studied her stunned face for a moment, then laughed. “You didn’t think the Masters’ Admiralty only existed in Britain? We have ignored you because you were no threat to us. We are much larger and more dangerous than you realize.”

Juliette narrowed her eyes at Sophia. Rose leaned forward slightly and started reaching up to take off her earrings.

“No,” Juliette whispered.

Rose sat back, but made it clear she would be more than willing to throw down if needed.

Arthur reached over and squeezed his wife’s hand once more, changing the subject. “You believe the Andersons are the last of the purists?”

Juliette nodded and prayed what she said next wasn’t a lie, even though she feared it might be. “We do.”

Lorelei, who’d been quiet throughout most of the meeting, leaned closer to Rose. Juliette glanced over quickly. Rose’s expression was neutral. Alarmingly so.

The vice admiral studied Rose’s face for a moment longer. Something had put her on high alert. “They’re lying.”

“No,” Rose said. “We’re not.”

Arthur leaned back and blew out a long breath. “Juliette, you know the debt isn’t settled.”

“But—” Juliette began.

Arthur cut her off. “There are too many loose ends. You’ve come here with very little, actually. I want the name of the person who blew up the boat.” He glanced over at his wife. “And I want a detailed accounting of Weston Anderson’s family tree. Sophia’s father will want to know of any other living relatives, want that part of his family line to continue in Rome as part of the Masters’ Admiralty.”

Juliette could give Arthur both of those things, but not right now. She glanced over her shoulder at Devon, who covertly shook his head. He understood as well as she did that the flight back home was not going to be a fun one.

“Fine,” she said, agreeing to Arthur’s terms. His demands could be met in one fell swoop. “We don’t know who blew up the boat yet, but we’re looking into it. And there’s no one left but Weston.”

“And I want a complete list of all suspected purists—living or dead. I want their names and the names of their children, grandchildren, etc.”

Juliette sat stock-still, unwilling to jeopardize the futures of Trinity Masters who had been questioned and cleared. Grant’s face flashed in her mind. She’d bound her best friend, Sebastian, to a man she suspected of being a purist, only to find he was completely unaware of his ancestors’ crimes. She would never put a blameless man at risk. And Sebastian would lose his shit if she tried. “What if we’ve discovered some of those children and grandchildren were innocent of any wrongdoing?”

“I want all the names, Juliette. You have one month to deliver this to me.”

“A month?” Devon asked coolly.

“You’ve had more than enough time already. I expect this information in one month, or I’ll have no choice but to turn this matter over to the fleet admiral of the Masters’ Admiralty. And believe me when I say,” Arthur continued, “the fleet admiral is not a forgiving man.”

“Arthur,” Juliette began, but the kind man she’d known as Tristan really was dead. She knew it the second Arthur’s features hardened and any trace of the man she’d thought she could call a friend vanished.

“Juliette, it’s time you stopped lying. I say this not only as the admiral of Britain, but as someone who was once Wes’ friend. We want Caden Anderson. We know he’s alive and that he blew up that boat. Turn him over to us.”