Deception

Prologue

PROLOGUE

LUCY

I ’m surrounded by men. Powerful, rich men who run the country with smoke and mirrors. Blue blood courses through every single body in this room, including mine. It sings, calling with every thrum of my heart.

“Don’t look so nervous, child,” the eldest of the men says as he cuts his cigar carefully. “If this is too much, we understand.”

“It’s not too much,” my father answers on my behalf. “Is it, Lu?”

I swallow down the lump that’s formed in my throat and shake my head.

“It’s a simple task, and we’ll make sure you have everything it takes to succeed. You’ll be trained by the ministry and briefed on everything that is expected of you.”

Although I nod at him, there’s nothing simple about what they’re asking me to do.

I’ll be living a double life. A dangerous life where I’m nothing more than an asset to these men and their brotherhood, a society made up of the oldest families in this country. Blood that has been woven into the fabric of history and balances the modern world with the traditions and values of the old.

“If you agree to take this on,” the older man says, breathing out a plume of cigar smoke, “there’s no turning back.”

He’s talking as though the decision hasn’t already been made for me. There’s no other way I would be here.

“Think carefully, Lucy, and make the right choice.”

When I look up at my father, he gives me a terse smile. The same one he used to give me when I was a child, and he was wordlessly nudging me to do something he wanted. Not really a smile, more of a silent push that I have never been able to resist.

“I’ll do it,” I say, reaching forward and taking the file on the desk.

Watchful eyes follow my every move as I flick through the contents, pausing on the photograph of two men walking side by side. While they both share the same dark hair and olive-toned skin, the younger is taller and broader and savagely handsome. Danger shadows the contours of his face, adding to his allure.

“By the time I’m done with you,” another of the men says—he’s my father’s friend, “you’ll be the pride of Her Majesty’s Secret Service and more than capable of killing the Vassily bastard.”

Darting my eyes up to his, I suck in a deep breath, but when I’m about to speak, he cuts me off. “While you are under my instruction, you’ll call me Big Ben. I’m not your father’s friend; I’m your boss, and I’ll be your handler on this mission.”

“God, take it easy,” my father groans as I look back to the file and take in the men in the photo. My heart stutters with the squeeze of my chest and the almost suffocating weight of what’s ahead of me.

When I chose to do a degree in Political Science, I thought that it would prepare me to be a bigger part of this world. Now, I’m beginning to see that it is wholly irrelevant to the role they want me to play.

They want me to be a spy. A killer. And all I want is to be one of them.