CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE Whispers of Sins
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Whispers of Sins
I sat there, pressed closer to Zagreus as his palm burned through my thigh.
A beat passed.
Then another.
The cards on the table lay forgotten. No one spoke, but they didn’t need to, not when their eyes said everything. And then, the one with palest eyes spoke.
“So, have you come to discuss the devil’s toy? Or are we still pretending it’s a myth?”
Zagreus sighs. “Lazarus is no myth. And Osman has it.”
A collective shift through the room, and eyes narrowed, postures stiffened.
Massimo leaned forward. “You’re telling me that madman got his hands on a weapon that can level countries?”
“Not just any weapon,” Zagreus said. “A Russian creation, designed during the Cold War, compact, untraceable, and catastrophic.”
Abel whistled. “Well, shit. That’s a party favour no one should have.”
Victor, as I had come to know him by that cold and deranged look in his eyes, set his glass down and adjusted his glasses. “And the Americans? They want it?”
Zagreus nodded. “Desperately. They see it as a means to tip the scales.”
The man with pale eyes grunted. “And you think I’d allow my homeland to be obliterated by our so-called allies?”
“I think,” Zagreus said evenly, “that if we don’t act, Osman will sell it to the highest bidder. And then none of us will have a homeland left to protect.”
The Asian looking man, who had been observing quietly, finally spoke. “Osman moves in shadows. He’s got a kingdom to protect and his royal crown. If he’s surfaced with Lazarus, it’s intentional. He wants our attention.”
Massimo snorted. “Well, congratulations to him. It’s working.”
The woman to my right shifted. The one wearing the blood red dress or whatever that was. She seemed quite interested in the conversation, unlike me and the one with the Asian looking man.
Zagreus turned to the pale-eyed man. “We need a plan, Judas. One that ensures Lazarus doesn’t fall into the wrong hands.”
So, his name was Judas.
Judas’s jaw tightened. “And what makes you think any of us are the right hands?”
“Because,” Zagreus muttered. “We’re the only ones who know it exists.”
The room fell silent again, and I just sat there, heart pounding and realising that I was in the midst of a conversation that could determine the fate of millions. And I was terrified.
“As much as I’d like to discuss the end of the world,” I looked up to find him swirling the liquor in his glass. “I’d hate to ask you to have this conversation alone, Vitale.”
All heads turned to me.
Zagreus didn’t react immediately; he stared at Judas for a moment, jaw tickling faintly, and then shifted his eyes to me. His fingers slid upward just a little on my thigh, and he sighed. “Then that goes for every other presence in this room, I suppose.”
Abel leaned forward to the woman in red and whispered something in her ear. Since I was sitting beside her, I heard it.
“Be a good girl, Saffron. I’d hate to paint your ass red if you make any trouble.”
Okay, I didn’t sign up for this.
I felt the blood leave my face. I didn’t even have to speak as Zagreus pressed his lips to my temple. “Get your fix, Dolcezza,” he murmured. “I’ll be done soon.”
I stood slowly, feeling the heaviness of every eye in the room slide off me, and walked out with Saffron and the one with red auburn hair.
The last thing I saw before the door clicked shut was Judas leaning back in his chair with a half-smile, raising his glass again.
“Now, let’s talk about who is going to die first.”
The door shut, and the guards outside led down a quieter hallway, dim lights and long silence. And I still couldn’t shake what I just heard. Were they going to kill someone? What had I gotten myself into?
I tried to focus on my breathing as the guard opened another door ahead. A parlour-like room, spacious but cold, with tufted velvet couches, warm lighting, and tall windows overlooking the garden below. Not a prison, but it felt like one.
The guard left after I heard a click. He locked it. Of course he did; none of the men in that damn room would want their woman escaping. And yes, I somehow knew these two were also some kind of victims to their whims. I wondered what their stories were.
I watched as the red-garbed one walked in first, and she didn’t even glance back, but somehow she had changed from timid one to fierce one. There’s rage in her of some kind. I felt like a pervert letting my eyes rake over her waist, where the garment was missing. She was stunning, did I mention?
I heard shuffling on my side to find the other woman, a petite and fragile-looking one with auburn hair and pale skin, taking a seat, folding her hands over her lap, and fidgeting with her thumbs. She hadn’t looked at anyone in the eyes yet. Not even once.
I stood awkwardly by the door, unsure whether to join her or not.
The woman in red finally turned, her mocha eyes scanning me in one long, slow, sweet look as she tilted her head. “You’re new.” She sighed, crossing her arms. “Looks like you’ve been thrown to wolves, too.”
I swallowed. “I… wasn’t told where to go.”
The fragile one stirred on the couch; her eyes were glassy. And I took a deep breath.
“You’re with Zagreus Vitale, aren’t you?” she asked, and I nodded. “He’s the deadliest.”
No need to remind me.
I flushed and felt myself being interrogated as she poured a glass of wine and handed it to me. “He kidnapped you?”
I swallowed, not knowing how much I was allowed to tell her. If Zagreus knew, would he punish me? My tongue tied itself in knots. “I… don’t know what I’m doing here.”
“None of us did,” she replied, sipping hers. “Mishka, by the way.”
Her name was as beautiful as her.
“Celestine.”
Mishka sat, crossing her legs and looking at the other woman. “Yours?”
I almost chuckled at her wide eyes, as if she wasn’t expecting us to talk to her. After a heavy silence, she whispered softly. “I-I’m… Nilah.”
I sipped on wine, gathering my courage, and sat opposite them. “Who were they?” I asked, though I was barely interested. I just needed to have some idea of what I was getting myself into.
“They call this a Syndicate of some kind. But it’s more like a ring of devils who got bored of ruling their own kingdoms, now they want to burn others.”
I stared at her, heart racing.
“And what’s Lazarus?” I asked before I could stop myself. “What are they talking about in there?”
She tilted her head, studying me like I’d grown a second head. “A weapon. And a person. Depends. Built by Alexei Volkov, who thinks god is overrated,” she glanced at the door, “and they want to decide who gets to wield it.”
Nilah whispered, almost to herself. “And Osman Khalid has it.”
“Who’s he?”
Mishka sighed. “Another one of them. Though with regal blood and a real fucking crown.”
I wrapped my arms around myself, a strange ache blooming in my chest. I didn’t know if I belonged here or how I ended up here. Or if I’d ever belong anywhere again. I still hadn’t pieced it together. Mishka and Nilah seemed to know more than I did.
I let my eyes waver at Mishka as she slowly stood and walked to the window.
The draping fabric flowed as she arched her back, the hem of her red garment brushed the marble floor as she raised her hand, and without hesitating, she tore a slit clean through the length of the fabric, leaving both me and Nilah wide-eyed and gasping.
I froze.
She didn’t stop, and shook off her heels, and she looked out the window. Her eyes scanned the height, the angle, and hummed to herself. “Not too high.”
“What are you doing?” I whispered, only for her lips to curve into a smile, but in the most deadliest way.
“Measuring the leap.”
“Leap?” Nilah repeated coming to stand beside me. She was as baffled as me as we both stared at the fearless woman in both awe and anticipation.
Mishka turned, her gaze dragging over me, then to Nilah, then back to the window. “I would love to take you two with me,” she said. “But I can’t risk being on their radar again. And I’m afraid… they’d only hunt you harder.”
“Mishka…” She pressed her finger to her lips, hushing me.
“Sweet dreams, ladies.”
Just before she climbed out fully, she reached into her strapless blouse and pulled out a lighter, and pulled out a folded handkerchief from the inner lining.
I didn’t have to look at the engraving on it to know who it belonged to.
Abel’s. She held it with two fingers over the flame until it curled, blackened, and caught fire.
“Tell Abel, I left him a kiss.”
Then she dropped it in the small porcelain bowl of oils by the hearth. The fire caught fast, and the entire bowl ignited, and before I knew, she blew a kiss and jumped out the window.
I gasped, ran to the window, and grabbed the rail, panting over it as I looked down, but there was nothing. She was gone. Just like the flame, just like that.
The flames hadn’t even finished licking the rim of the bowl before I felt it. A warm throb behind my eyes. And I realised something far worse as I looked at the wine glass I left on the cabinet.
The wine.
I blinked hard, turning my head slowly over my shoulder to find Nilah slumped on the velvet divan. Her curly auburn hair fell over her eyes, and her glass was tilted.
Panic hit me in slow motion. “Fuck…”
It all made sense now. She barely drank the wine. God, why hadn’t I been smart enough?
If only I could use my brain that much.
If only I hadn’t been so goddamn scared.
If only I hadn’t just sat there while she made her move.