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"Jack might have been a slacker, but he was a good man. He had ethics and was above reproach. He couldn't even be bribed because he had more money than God. His only Achilles heel was his love for his family."

  "But Ares was different in that regard. He chose not to have contact with his children."

  "I have to be honest. I know about your and Ari's backgrounds."

  "You checked us out?"

  "If it looks like a duck, swims like a duck, and quacks like a duck . . ."

  "Then, it probably is a duck," I finish. "Do you really believe we are Ares's children? Because, honestly, I'm not so sure sometimes. I kind of feel like I'm being punked."

  "I saw your birth certificates. Ari's middle name is Allister. Your middle name is Penelope, after the wife of the hero Odysseus."

  "A coincidence?"

  "Doubtful," he says. "You have your father's eyes. And, if you look closely at that picture of when we were young, you can see a lot of your brother in Ares. Your father studied the Renaissance era, and idolized Odysseus. Do you know that story?"

  "Of course. Odysseus set up the plan to deceive the Trojan army with the horse. The Greeks won the war because of it."

  "He also went through numerous battles to get back home--because all he wanted was to see his wife. His love for her drove him."

  "Are you saying, he loved my mother? Did you know her?"

  "I knew of her. They were close in high school but grew apart when he went to college. I also know that you were homeschooled. Went to a boarding school part-time and received high marks. I was told you were quiet and a bit shy."

  "Wow. You did a lot of checking," I say, wondering how the hell he checked into my school. The school I obviously didn't go to.

  "When I heard the news, yes, I did. I was worried it was some kind of scam. Regardless of how he spent the last few years of his life, I still consider him a friend. In life and beyond."

  "And now?"

  He reaches out and touches my face in a fatherly gesture. "I hope you and Ari will fill the void he left. And I will give you some advice. Because of the money you have inherited along with your father's legacy, you, too, will be watched by our government."

  "Does that mean I should pay the parking ticket I got in Ares's Ferrari when I double-parked?"

  He chuckles again. "I think you definitely should. They will use any excuse to reach the very wealthy, and they always scrutinize us. I've been the target of numerous investigations, as has Viktor's father and your own. I'll quietly see what I can find out, okay?"

  "Thank you, Mr. Prescott. I really appreciate your kindness."

  "Seriously, call me Malcolm. Mr. Prescott was my father."

  My mind is reeling, trying to digest everything he said about my father, as he leads me through the billiards room and to the end of an empty hall. He presses a button, and a wall slides open.

  "That's pretty slick."

  He grins. "Did you know the castle in Montrovia has numerous secret passageways? I used to think that was the coolest thing ever, and when I built this house, I had to put in a few."

  He puts his hand out, politely gesturing for me to go first. I step in front of him and tightly close my eyes, taking a moment to allow myself to feel. Walking into an unknown place like this that no one knows about doesn't sound like the best idea. But, unlike when I went back to Blackwood, my senses are not on full alert in this situation. Malcolm Prescott is a man who I can trust.

  And I'm feeling grateful for it, so I keep walking.

  We move down a long hall to find a set of stairs, much like the ones that go down to Ares's gun range.

  "I'm assuming this is the way? It looks a lot like Ares's."

  "Mine is bigger," he says with a grin as I hit the bottom stair to find a large range spread out in front of us.

  "Let me guess, he put his in first?"

  Malcolm just keeps grinning, indicating that I'm correct. He had to do one better.

  Ari, Peter, and Lorenzo are lined up in separate bays, all dressed in dinner jackets and shooting a variety of guns. They say the gun a man chooses conveys much about his personality.

  Peter has a Taurus Colt .45 that looks like something they used back in the Wild West days.

  Ari, who typically favors the Glock 30, is shooting a German Korth six-inch pistol made entirely of hardened carbon steel with a double-slide guide, fixed barrel, and a semi-rigid roller shutter. It's a serious piece of hardware--not that it matters. Ari could do damage with any gun he chooses, proven by the stack of target papers he has lying around him, all with neat rings.

  "Your brother is a good shot," Malcolm says.

  "His dad--well, his adopted dad--was in the military. I think Ari grew up with a gun in his hand."

  "It shows."

  He studies his own son, and I can easily read his disappointment.

  "How about you? You any good with a gun?"

  "Me?" I scoff. "The first time I ever shot a gun was at Ares's house. And that was only after Ari gave me a long safety lesson."

  "Which gun would you choose to shoot?" he asks.

  I look around, trying to figure out which gun a normal girl would choose, but then I realize Huntley and X share the same desire for different reasons. I point toward Lorenzo, who is holding an extremely rare titanium gold Desert Eagle .440 Cor-Bon. It was designed by Magnum Research and Israeli Military Industries and is a staple, but only a few hundred of the gold were ever manufactured.

  "The one Lorenzo is shooting is by far the prettiest," I say, trying my best to sound girlie.

  Malcolm laughs at me. "You are your father's daughter. He loved gold, too."

  "I didn't see one of those guns in his collection."

  "That's because I won it from him."

  "How?"

  "Funny you ask. It was actually a day just like today, about fifteen years ago. We had been at the Cartier Queen's Cup and came back here to play poker."

  "You won it in a poker match?"

  "Yes. But guess what I found on this rare gun after he sent it to me?"

  "Um, I don't know."

  He stands behind Lorenzo and taps his shoulder. All three guys were so enthralled with shooting, they didn't seem to notice us enter the room.

  Lorenzo sets the gun down and takes off his earmuffs. Then he wraps his arm around my waist and pulls me close even though Malcolm is standing right there.

  "I like the gold gun," I say, hoping to lean the conversation in that direction.

  "Do you mind?" Malcolm asks him.

  "Of course not," Lorenzo says, taking the clip out of the gun.

  He hands it to Malcolm, who holds the butt of it in front of my face.

  "See. He marred it with his damn logo."

  I can't help but laugh when I see the same V over the A that was prevalent in his office.

  "Do you want to shoot it?" Malcolm asks me.

  "Um," I say, "isn't it about time for dinner?"

  Malcolm glances at his watch. "You're right. My wife will have our hides if we're late."

  All forty-two guests are mingling, waiting to be seated at a massive dining room table set with antique fine bone china. The lights are dimmed, the tall crystal candelabras providing a soft glow.

  "Miss Von Allister, it's nice to finally meet you," Aleksandr Nikolaevich says to me. "We should have met in Montrovia, but my flight was grounded due to bad weather, and I missed my son's proposal." He pauses. "Horrible, isn't it?"

  "Yeah, it was pretty horrible."

  "Oh, I'm terribly sorry for bringing it up. I forgot you were there."

  I look down, pretending to be upset. "It wasn't a very pleasant experience."

  "I'm sure it was quite traumatic. How are you handling it?"

  "Do you like movies?" I ask him.

  "Why, yes. I love a good action film."

  "Me, too. They used to be my favorite. It was like watching a movie, but the whole time, my mind was thinking, It's not real, and, It's all Hollywood, but at the movies, you can't smel
l the gunpowder or taste blood on your lips."

  Malcolm Prescott comes up from behind us, giving his old friend a hug. "About time you showed up," he says. "Are things proceeding as you hoped?"

  "You know, with all business, one never is sure until the ink is dry."

  "Unless you have a good lawyer." Malcolm chuckles. "I see you have met Huntley. What do you think?"

  "She has her father's eyes," Aleksandr says, staring into mine.

  "Exactly what I said. Have you seen Ari? He looks so much like Ares."

  "He does. It is like seeing a ghost from the past."

  "You've never eaten a meal until you've had one at the Prescott's," Daniel says, turning to me as we are seated. "Their chef is world-class, and each course is a culinary masterpiece."

  I'm seated across the table from Lorenzo with Daniel to my right and Aleksandr Nikolaevich to my left. As per etiquette, I will speak to him during the first course, which is a warm onion tart with smoked salmon.

  "I was hoping Viktor might be here with you," I say, turning to Aleksandr.

  "He's currently at our home in Lake Como with his mother," he states.

  "I heard that. Is he doing well? Did he and Ophelia know each other long? I know they mentioned dating for about six months before they got engaged, but I wasn't sure if they had known each other before that."

  "They went to the same boarding school in Switzerland but did not date until recently. I will be honest; I didn't approve of their engagement."

  "You didn't care for Ophelia?"

  "Ophelia was a fine young woman, but I felt it was too early in their relationship for such a commitment."

  "Both Ari and I texted and offered our condolences, but Viktor never replied."

  "Like you, he has been hounded by the press. Soon, they will move on to something else sensational. My son has a wonderful, gregarious personality and will bounce back."

  "Is he sort of hiding out?"

  Aleksandr nods in confirmation as the newly divorced former supermodel sitting to Daniel's right laughs inappropriately loud at whatever clever thing he said to her. I glance at him, noting how he seems to love the attention. I roll my eyes. No surprise there.

  Aleksandr must notice because he narrows his eyes, glancing first at Daniel and then at Lorenzo. "You have been dating both men, according to the papers."

  "And, in reality, I'm dating neither."

  "Lorenzo seems to be smitten. Even though he is engaged in polite conversation with the beautiful, single woman seated next to him, as he should be, I feel his eyes upon us. He is enamored with you." Aleksandr studies my face. "You blush. Do you return his affection?"

  I don't know what to say, so I take a bite of the tart. Daniel was right. It's delicious.

  "You went through something traumatic together," Aleksandr adds.

  "And you probably know his reputation. I don't want to be a passing fancy."

  "I'm not sure if it is apparent to you yet, but your love for each other is quite clear to the rest of us."

  Aleksandr must sense I'm uncomfortable with talking about it, so he changes the subject. We discuss a variety of topics--from today's polo match to the fact that the fork I'm eating with was handcrafted and plated with twenty-four karat gold and probably once belonged to Napoleon.

  The supermodel laughs again as our next course is served, meaning Daniel is supposed to turn his attention to me. It will be interesting to see if he does.

  "I hear it's your birthday," he says a few minutes later.

  "That is true."

  "Would you like me to break out in a heartwarming rendition of 'Happy Birthday'?"

  "Nah, that's okay."

  "Well then, I guess I'll just have to come up to your room after dinner and do it in private. And, in my family, the birthday girl gets a spanking for each year." He licks his lips.

  "Too bad I'm not part of the family, Daniel," I state, wondering why I keep resisting him.

  Part of me wants to openly flirt with Daniel in front of Lorenzo in an attempt to push him away. He should marry Lizzie. She will make a beautiful queen, and he used to have a crush on her. I'm sure in time, he will fall in love with her.

  But, when I glance in his direction, our eyes lock, and I can't do it. Because Aleksandr is right. Lorenzo's love is apparent.

  It's nearly eleven by the time we're served our last course of coffee and candied fruits.

  "How come you're not wearing that watch you always wear?" Daniel asks me.

  "I lost it recently, which makes me sad."

  I don't tell him that the dean of my former school gave it to me. The dean who was probably in on the murder of everyone who knew me at Blackwood. I don't tell him that the man I believed to be my father was a spy. Or that it contained a lethal dart. Or that I left it with the friend of the assassin who killed my mother when he loaned me a car and sent me away with the assassin's young son.

  "Well, since I didn't get you a birthday gift," he says, unclasping his watch. He holds the vintage Cartier in front of me. "May I?"

  "That's not necessary, Daniel. It looks special."

  "It's not. Cartier is one of my sponsors. I'm sure they can get me another one." He clamps it around my wrist. "Happy birthday, Huntley," he says with a devilish grin. "Now, about those spankings."

  And there's something about the exchange that makes me feel a little empty--probably the way in which he said that the watch was nothing special. And, although the gift is valuable and was a sweet gesture, the watch he is trying to replace was special to me, and this non-special one feels wrong on my wrist.

  But I say, "Thank you. That's sweet of you."

  He waggles his eyebrows at me and smirks. "I think we're going steady now."

  "Then I should probably give it back," I say seriously.

  "Huntley, I'm just joking."

  "Oh, okay."

  "What's up with you?"

  "Nothing. I'm just really tired. It's been a long day. I think I'm going to retire now."

  "Alone?" he asks, giving it one more shot.

  "Yes, Daniel. Alone," I reply, getting out of my seat.

  Most of the guests have gotten up and are mingling. I thank our hosts and look for Lorenzo to tell him good night.

  But I can't find him, so I make my way up to my room. I consider knocking on his door. It seems a little odd that he went to bed without speaking to me, but I'm not going to worry about it. I'm exhausted.

  I open the door and enter my suite, causing the automatic lights to come on and reveal a room filled with hundreds of multicolored helium balloons, bouquets of flowers, a cake on a silver stand, and Lorenzo.

  "Happy birthday," he says.

  I immediately burst into tears. I'm so overwhelmed with his thoughtfulness.

  He pulls me into his arms. "Do you not like surprises?"

  "I love surprises. It's just that I haven't really celebrated a birthday since my mother died. And we never celebrated like this. I never had parties like other kids."

  Lorenzo narrows his eyes in concern.

  "Don't get me wrong; my mom always made me feel special, but we were often traveling on my birthday, so I usually got a cupcake with a candle and a small gift. Looking back, I think my birthday was probably a reminder of the son she'd lost. I'm sure that was hard for her."

  I shake my head as he pulls me close and wipes my tears.

  "I'm deeply touched you did this for me, Lorenzo."

  "It is my pleasure. What would you like to do first? Shall I light the candles, so you can blow them out and make a wish?"

  "Yes, please," I reply.

  But then I throw myself at him, giving him a passionate kiss and pushing him back onto the bed. His hands move to caress my backside, causing me to moan against his lips as our tongues connect.

  We make out for a few moments, but when things start to get hot and heavy, I stop kissing him and slightly back away. No matter how much I want to, I cannot sleep with Lorenzo.

  Not yet.

&n
bsp; Maybe not ever.

  He lazily runs his fingers through my hair. "I don't think I've ever gotten such a response to something so simple as balloons."

  I roll onto my back, looking up. "They're beautiful, Lorenzo. It is a very sweet gesture."

  "Speaking of sweet, you need to blow out the candles, make a wish, and eat a piece of your cake before the clock strikes midnight. A birthday wish is a powerful thing and should not be wasted."

  He stands up and then holds out his hand to pull me off the bed. He lights the candles, and when I start to blow them out, he holds up his hand. "I must serenade you first, my darling."

  Then he sings a song in Montrovian that wishes me a long life full of blessings and much happiness, causing tears to flood my eyes as I blow out the candles. I don't know if you are allowed more than one wish on your birthday, but there is only one thing my heart truly desires right now, and regardless of my training, I can't help but wish for it.

  When the candles are extinguished, Lorenzo cuts a small piece of the cake and feeds it to me. "Sorry for the rush," he says, "but I wanted you to have at least a bite before the clock struck midnight." He holds his digital watch up, which shows the time at 11:59:42.

  "I appreciate it, Lorenzo. What a wonderful gift. Thank you."

  "Gift? Oh no, Huntley, this is just the decor." He grabs a decadently wrapped box and sets it on the bed. Then he places a smaller one on the top.

  "You didn't have to get me anything," I tell him. "The decorations are plenty for me. I will probably lie in bed most of the night and just stare at the balloons. Is that weird?" I ask, feeling a little awkward all of a sudden.

  "Not if you will allow me to hold your hand and stare at them with you."

  "I'd be honored," I tell him, kissing his cheek.

  "Now that we have that settled," he says, sitting on the bed on one side of the packages and patting the other. "Come open your presents."

  I pick up the small package, sit on the bed, and gently undo the ribbon before pulling off the wrapping paper. Inside, I find a book of works by San Agustin, a theologian and philosopher from the fourth century.

  "Do you remember our first date when we were in my library, and I read from this book?"

  "I do. 'La medida del amor es amar sin medida.' The measure of love is to love without measure. And, if I remember right, that's about when we heard gunfire in the castle."

  "You are right. Not only was it our first date, but it was also the first time you saved my life. Do you remember the second time?"