Chapter 59
Iwalk through the manicured gardens and the silence is so profound, only broken by my own footsteps on the gravel path.
I left my Pet tied up, strapped up, being simultaneously stretched and fucked by a machine while I see to Brethren business. It’s been three hours already, three hours of educating her, and she’ll do a lot more before I get back home.
I bet she’s a quivering mess already, I bet she’ll have an entire pool of her own come beneath her by the time I check this evening.
I smirk, shifting my belt, fixing my cock. I’ll have her suck me off as a thank you. Have her milk me dry while I eat my dinner. She’ll be exhausted by then, she’ll be an emotional wreck, but that’s okay. I like her tears, and I especially like them when my cock is down her throat.
At the entrance, I nod to the guards and then pause. Who the fuck are these men? I don’t recognise them. My eyes narrow and I open my mouth to speak, but a sound stops me in my tracks; it’s a woman’s scream.
A raw, primal sound of pure terror, abruptly cut off. My hand instinctively moves towards the inside of my jacket, my senses snapping to a razor’s edge. What the fuck is going on here?
This is not part of the script. Konstantine is meant to be here with a skeleton crew of trusted, vetted staff. There should be no one here capable of making such a sound.
“Antonio.”
I spin around, seeing him halfway down a corridor and then I realise it’s not him, not Konstantine, but his brother.
“Lazarus.” I say quietly. “What…”
He shakes his head slightly and glances at the walls as if they suddenly have ears, and that makes me frown even more.
In quick strides he walks up to me. “He’s not right in the head.” He murmurs.
“Who?” I reply though in truth, there’s only one person he’s talking about.
“You’re not a fool, Antonio.” He continues, “You know what he’s done. What he has created…”
Created? What the fuck is he talking about?
“Who are those guards? Who was that woman? What the fuck is going on here?” It’s hard to keep my voice calm, to be calm.
Lazarus doesn’t even flinch as he looks back at me. “The guards are my men. We had to replace them. There was evidence that one of them was Esau, and we didn’t want to take any risks…”
“What evidence?” I snap. This is the first I’ve heard of it. Why the fuck has no one told me this before?
“It’s in hand.” Lazarus says in a tone meant to be reassuring. “Both of us have my brother’s best interests at heart. We know what his death would mean. That’s why I had to act quickly.”
“You do not get to make changes without consulting me.” I bark. Have I not kept his brother safe, have I not literally ensured his and the entire Brethren’s survival?
Something flashes across his eyes and then his shoulders slump and he sighs, like he too has been carrying the weight of the world. “Point made.” He murmurs. “I didn’t think, I just did what I felt was best. From now on, any changes will go through you.”
Like they should have to begin with. I go to voice that and then realise Konstantine, the real Konstantine is standing there watching us.
The Grand Master gestures for me to follow him, and I walk out to the terrace with Lazarus echoing my steps.
The sun is at the wrong angle, casting long, distorted shadows across the veranda.
But in the deep shade between a marble column and the wall, I see it.
The shadow of a woman pressed flat against the stone, as if trying to make herself disappear.
It’s not the cowering posture of a scolded servant. It is the terrified, frozen stance of prey.
I turn back to Konstantine. “Who else is here? I was under the impression you were alone, beyond the necessary staff.”
His smile widens, becoming something beatific and unnerving. He places a hand over his own chest, right where the new heart beats behind a lattice of scars. “But I am not alone, Antonio. How could I be? My beautiful Ines has returned to me. She is here. She watches over my recovery.”
The world tilts, just for a second.
The heat of the sun suddenly feels cold.
Is this madness? A side effect of the immunosuppressants, the trauma of the surgery? Or is it something more calculated?
With Konstantine, the line between insanity and strategy is often invisible but I didn’t imagine that scream, nor did I imagine that silhouette.
“I… see,” I say, trying to sound reassuring.
“Come,” he gestures towards a shaded table overlooking the sea. “Let us sit. The tea is already here.”
We all settle into deep wicker chairs as a servant pours jasmine tea into delicate bone china cups. The ordinariness of the ritual is surreal, considering nothing else about either of us is ordinary.
“The elections in France,” Konstantine begins, sipping his tea. “Our candidate is slipping in the polls. Those leaked emails were ineptly handled.”
“The leak was contained,” I reply, my voice finding its familiar, efficient cadence.
“The narrative has been redirected towards the whistleblower’s past affiliations.
A smear campaign is already underway, which is far more effective than denial.
He will be a non-entity by the end of the week, and our man’s numbers are already recovering. ”
“Good.” He nods slowly. “And the situation in Kavaria?”
“The war proceeds as planned. The rebel faction we funded has taken the southern capital. The president is apparently planning to flee to a neighbouring country, though his plane may unfortunately experience some mechanical malfunction over the mountains. The new regime will be deeply in our debt. The mineral rights will be ours before the first anniversary of their ‘revolution’.”
Konstantine listens, his gaze on the horizon. He looks like a retired philosopher king, contemplating bigger things.
“And the flow of arms from the northern border?” he asks.
“Stable. Logistically complex, but stable. We are using the old Ottoman routes. The payments are being laundered through a series of shell corporations in Dubai and Macau. It’s all untraceable.”
He turns his pale eyes on me. “You have been diligent, Antonio. Exceptionally so. The Brethren would be adrift without your hand holding us steady. I, personally, would be lost.”
I incline my head, a gesture of humility that is as much a part of my uniform as my tailored suit. “I serve the Brethren, Konstantine. As we all do. There is no need for accolades.”
It is the right thing to say. The expected thing, and it is true.
I don’t need his praise,
I need his power, his structure.
I need the machine he commands, for my own purposes are woven too deeply into its wiring to be extracted now.
The day I turned tail, the day I chose Konstantine’s family over the Esau was the day I tied my soul into this bargain.
There is no going back now, no turning around. We either win or die together.
We continue for another hour, dissecting the world’s troubles and orchestrating solutions that benefit only us.
He is sharp, incisive, his mind seemingly untouched by the phantom that haunts his house.
It is the most dangerous kind of madness: one that leaves the intellect perfectly intact while the soul curdles.
Finally, the business is concluded. I finish my tea, now cold, and place the cup on the silver tray. “If that is all, you should rest.”
“There is one small matter.” he says, his voice softening into something that feels infinitely more threatening than his commands. “The Ratcliffe girl. How is she?”
The question, coming from him, is a needle inserted directly into a nerve. My face remains a placid mask. “She is well.”
“Is she behaving? Is she playing the part you wanted for her?”
He asks it like a connoisseur inquiring about a rare acquisition, but we both know the truth of what he is really asking. Is Grace a threat? Has she been neutralised enough that even the continual danger of the Esau is no issue?
“Conditioning takes time,” I say, choosing my words with the care of a bomb disposal expert. “She is resistant, wilful, but she is also intelligent. She is understanding the benefits of compliance, and is doing well.”
He smiles a small, secretive smile, looking not at me but at some private thought. “I would like to meet this girl. This diamond you are cutting under such pressure.”
I pause at those words. To let my pet near Konstantine, especially considering she is still a half-formed thing is one hell of a risk to take, but to deny him is impossible.
“You are welcome to dinner anytime you wish,” I say, the invitation sounding hollow even to my own ears. I know a formal dinner under my control, in my territory, is the only feasible way I can manage this, manage her.
Lazarus’s eyes glide back to me, and the secretive smile returns, now tinged with cruelty. “And something else besides the food?”
I pause, saying nothing, even though I know exactly what he means.
He leans forward slightly, the wicker chair creaking under his shift in weight. “We have both heard about a certain evening spent at the Black Orchid. I would like to see for myself what kind of pet you are training. I would like to witness the quality of this bitch’s obedience firsthand.”
It’s hard not to smile. I know what he’s asking, what he’s not saying; that he wants to see her perform, wants to witness her particular type of art for himself.
He glances at his brother, and to my surprise Konstantine nods.
“Invite Charles as well.” He continues. “Our U.S. Chapter Lord should see how things are done properly, and a few others. I’ll make a list for you. We’ll make a night of it. A private showing. They can see how skilled you are for themselves.”
I keep my face a perfect sculpture of compliance. “Of course. I will arrange it.”