24. Twenty-Three
The terrace of Ladurée was exactly the kind of place Xavier would choose for this conversation. Perfect sightlines to all approaches, multiple exit routes, and enough ambient noise from other patrons to make surveillance difficult. He sat with his back to the wall, those dark eyes scanning every face that passed. Just like Papa had taught us.
The familiar mix of vanilla and sugar drifting from the patisserie's kitchen hit me like a punch to the gut. Mom's favorite macaron flavor, classic vanilla. She'd spent months perfecting her own recipe, determined to recreate that exact balance of crisp shell and creamy filling, while Papa watched from his favorite chair, taking breaks from his mortuary paperwork to sample her latest attempts. The memory made something in my chest twist.
How many hours had we spent in Mom's kitchen, the three of us perched on counters while she hummed and taught us the importance of proper folding technique, Papa occasionally interjecting with morbid baking puns that made her roll her eyes fondly?
Xavier's eyes caught my reaction to the scent, because of course they did. Nothing got past him these days. The triplet bond thrummed between us, a constant awareness that had only grown stronger since Xion's episode. Sometimes I wondered if that's why Xavier's empathy had developed the way it had, like his brain had rewired itself to prevent another breakdown from blindsiding us. These days he could read emotional undercurrents like they were printed in neon, categorizing every micro-expression with terrifying accuracy.
Xavier had always been fascinated by how I moved through spaces like this, reading the subtle ways I adapted my presence to match or challenge others' expectations. His eyes narrowed at each new data point, building a profile he'd use to justify his interference. That's what Xavier did. He gathered intelligence until he could convince himself his meddling was necessary. Until he could frame his control as protection.
"You look like shit," he said as we approached, the words coming out in Russian. His focus stayed locked on Ash.
"Says the one who flew fourteen hours," I replied in the same tongue, sliding into the seat across from him. The cushion was softer than expected, making me wince as bruises I'd forgotten about made themselves known.
"Sixteen with layovers," Xavier corrected, his eyes catching my reaction. "The hotel is completely booked, by the way."
"You're not staying with us," I said automatically.
"Already had my stuff sent to your room." His smile was pure challenge. "Unless you want me sleeping in the hallway where anyone could..."
"Fine," I cut him off. We'd always been like this, finishing each other's threats as easily as breathing. "But you're taking the couch."
Ash remained standing, one hand on the back of my chair. The gesture probably looked protective to outsiders, but I recognized it as tactical positioning. Neither of them trusted the other, and it showed in every careful movement.
"Sit down," I told Ash, tugging at his sleeve. "You're making the waiters nervous."
He complied with careful grace, though I noticed he chose the chair that gave him the clearest path to both exits. The silence stretched between us, broken only by the gentle clinking of china as the table next to us finished their breakfast.
The tension vibrated like a plucked wire, both men locked in their own versions of tactical assessment. Xavier's fingers drummed a precise pattern on the table, the same rhythm we’d learned during weapons training. Three taps, pause, two taps. Safety, chamber, fire. I caught Ash tracking the movement, his own hands perfectly still. Two predators sizing each other up while pretending to study their coffee.
A young couple at the next table laughed, the sound sharp against our careful silence. Both men's heads turned slightly at the noise, threat assessment automatic and synchronized. I had to bite back a bitter laugh at how similar they were. These two alpha males were convinced they were nothing alike, but they were both hypervigilant, both deadly, both absolutely certain they knew what was best for me.
The waiter approached with fresh coffee, his cheerful "Bonjour!" faltering slightly as he registered the charged atmosphere. Ash's hand slid to my thigh under the table, grip possessive as he tracked the server's movements. Across from us, Xavier's eyes caught the shift in position, cataloging one more piece of evidence in whatever profile he was building.
"Let's be clear about something," Xavier said, switching to English. His voice carried that dangerous edge I rarely heard – the one that made even Papa pay attention. "If anything happens to my brother—"
"X," I started, but he cut me off with a sharp look.
"No. He needs to understand exactly what he's gotten himself into." Xavier leaned forward, all pretense of civility gone. "I've spent twenty minutes watching how you touch him. How you position yourself. The way you track threats while maintaining physical contact. This isn't just a cover for you anymore, is it?"
Ash met his stare evenly. "No. It's not."
"Then you should know that if you hurt him, if you let anyone else hurt him..." Xavier's smile was lethal. "Well. Let's just say there are worse things than death."
"Both of you stop," I snapped as Ash tensed beside me. "X, I know you're worried. But this isn't what you think. I trust him."
"You trust too easily," Xavier shot back. "Always have."
"And you don't trust enough," I countered. "Look at me, X. Really look. Do I seem afraid? Uncertain?"
Xavier studied me with those too-sharp eyes that saw everything we tried to hide. I felt his focus narrow, felt him reading the currents of emotion between Ash and me. His expression shifted slightly.
"No," he admitted finally. "You don't. That's what worries me."
"You shouldn't be investigating this," Ash cut in, his voice hard. "The less you know, the safer you'll be."
"Bit late for that, isn't it?" Xavier's laugh held no humor. "My sibling is playing bait for a killer while working for our sperm donor. I think we're past plausible deniability."
"You know I can't walk away from this," I said quietly. "Not with what's at stake."
"I know." Xavier's smile was grim. "That's why I'm staying.”
"Absolutely not," Ash and I said in perfect unison.
"try to stop me." Xavier's voice held that edge that meant he'd already made up his mind. "Unless you want me calling Papa to tell him his favorite child is working for Algerone."
"That's blackmail," I protested.
"That's family," he corrected, the words coming out in Russian again. "Get used to it."
I looked between them. My overprotective brother and my possessive handler were both trying to keep me safe in their own ways. Both were more alike than either would admit.
It hit me then how perfectly they mirrored each other in their need to control, to protect, to possess. Xavier with his emotional radar and carefully maintained surveillance, convinced his interference was justified by our bond. Ash, with his tactical positioning and marking touches, transforming his darkness into something that looked like love. Both of them were so certain their version of possession was the right one.
My throat ached where Ash's marks branded me, each bruise a reminder of how completely I'd surrendered to his darkness. The same darkness I saw lurking behind Xavier's careful control, though he'd never admit to it. My brother preferred subtler chains, like guilt and obligation wrapped in family loyalty. But the need to own, to control, to keep? That ran just as deep.
I shifted in my seat, making the marks on my thighs throb. Ash's fingers tightened imperceptibly on my neck, while Xavier's eyes caught the minute flinch the movement caused. The triplet bond hummed with his disapproval, but there was something else there too: recognition of a shared impulse. The same possessive instinct that made him fly across an ocean just because I'd gone quiet for too long.
"Fine," I said finally. "But you follow our lead. No interfering with the operation. No calling home. And absolutely no trying to hack Lucky Losers' systems."
Xavier's innocent expression fooled exactly no one. "Would I do that?"
"Yes," Ash and I chorused again.
"Speaking of the operation," Xavier said, his expression turning deadly serious. "Tell me about tonight's party. And don't leave out any details about security."
"It's a private showing," I explained, keeping my voice low. "Very exclusive guest list. The kind of event where phones are checked at the door and NDAs are required. Starts at seven."
"Roche's security team handles the door," Ash added. "Former military. They'll be looking for weapons, but..."
"But they won't check too closely if the guests look pretty enough," Xavier finished. His eyes lingered on the marks visible above my collar. "That's why the bruises. You're establishing ownership before letting him play bait."
"Among other reasons," Ash replied, voice dropping lower. His fingers traced one of the marks on my neck.
I caught the way Xavier’s hands tightened on his coffee cup. He'd always hated seeing evidence of anyone marking me, claiming me. But something in his expression shifted as he watched how I leaned into Ash's touch instead of away.
"You actually feel safe with him," Xavier said, the words coming out like they surprised him. His eyes narrowed as he studied Ash with renewed intensity. "Despite everything he represents. Everything he could do to hurt you."
"Yes," I replied simply. No point in lying to someone who could read emotional undercurrents like text on a page.
Xavier sat back, something complicated flickering across his face. "Tell me about the security at this party. Not just the door. Everything."
Ash's hand stayed steady on my neck as he outlined what we knew. "Three layers of security. Outer perimeter is handled by local contractors. Standard event security, focused on keeping out paparazzi and uninvited guests. Inner ring is Roche's personal team. They handle guest screening, weapons checks, surveillance."
"And the third layer?" Xavier asked, though his expression suggested he already knew.
"Philippe Mercier." Ash's voice went flat. "Former GIGN. Runs Roche's closest protection detail. He'll have four to six operators with him at all times, moving between security zones. Mix of French special forces veterans and international contractors."
"Mercier has a reputation," Xavier said. "His team handled security for some of the most dangerous people in Europe."
"Which is exactly why Roche hired him," I added. "Someone who knows how to be discreet about their employer's... particular interests." His eyes fixed on Ash again. "What's your exit strategy if things go wrong?"
"We have three." Ash started outlining contingency plans, but Xavier cut him off with a sharp gesture.
"No. Not the official ones. The real ones. What happens if everything goes sideways and you have to get Xander out fast?"
Ash hesitated. These weren't the kind of details we shared with civilians, even family members. But Xavier's gaze never wavered, and there was something in his expression that reminded me of Papa during mission briefings.
"Primary route is through the staff entrance," Ash said finally. "Service corridor leads to a loading dock where we'll have a vehicle waiting. Two minute run, assuming clear halls."
"And when that gets compromised?" Xavier's voice was pure ice.
"Secondary exit through the gardens. West wall backs up to an empty property." Ash's fingers traced patterns on my neck as he spoke, a grounding touch that felt more instinctive than calculated. "Third option is the wine cellar. Old tunnel system underneath pre-dates most of the city maps. Leads to three different points in the six arrondissement."
"And if all of those are blown?"
"Plan Zero." Ash's hand stilled on my skin. “I kill everyone between us and the exit. No questions asked.”
Something flickered across Xavier’s face. Not approval, but something like it.
"Good," he said simply. "What about weapons? They'll be checking at the door."
"Full pat-down," Ash confirmed. "Metal detectors, scanner wands. But they won't look too closely at accessories that match the outfits. Not if they're expensive enough."
"Jewelry is fashionable this season," I added meaningfully. "Particularly pieces with sharp edges."
Understanding flickered in Xavier's eyes. "And if you need backup? Besides me?"
"Anton's team has the perimeter," Ash said. "Four men outside, another two mixed with serving staff."
"Not enough." Xavier reached for his phone, fingers flying over the screen. "I've got contacts in Paris. People who owe me favors. Give me three hours and I can have additional surveillance on every entrance."
"Absolutely not," Ash said, but I caught the considering look in his eyes. "The more people involved..."
"The more chances something goes wrong," Xavier finished. "I know. But right now you're walking in blind except for whatever intel Lucky Losers provided. You need more eyes. More angles."
I watched them studying each other, two predators weighing the risks and advantages of hunting together. The silence stretched, broken only by the gentle clink of china as the waiter cleared neighboring tables.
"Three hours," Ash said finally. "But I vet everyone personally. No one gets involved without full background checks."
Xavier's smile was sharp. "Already running them. I'll have profiles for you within the hour."
I sat back, watching them outline communication protocols and contingency plans. They weren't friends, might never be. But they both loved me enough to put aside their distrust. Both understood exactly what it meant to be the kind of person who could kill without hesitation to protect what was theirs.
The sun climbed higher over Paris as we finalized details, warming the dregs of our coffee. We had ten hours until Roche's party. Ten hours to prepare for whatever waited in that mansion full of beautiful, deadly things.
Maybe the unlikely alliance between my overprotective brother and my possessive handler would be enough to get us through the night.
Maybe it would be enough to keep us all alive.