CHAPTER SEVEN: The Price of Truth

CHAPTER SEVEN: The Price of Truth

The words didn't just echo; they settled. Like radioactive dust after an explosion, they clung to my skin, filling my lungs until it was hard to draw a clean breath.

I opened my mouth, ready to argue, ready to scream that I was nothing like him, but the protest died in my throat. Eliot stood from the sofa with a predatory grace, setting his glass down with deliberate care. The soft clink against the glass table sounded like a gunshot in the oppressive quiet of the cabin.

"You steal," he continued, his voice a low, honeyed rasp that made the hair on my arms stand up. "You break into places that aren't yours. You knock men unconscious without knowing if they'll ever wake up again. You work for people who do kill-even if you pretend your hands are clean by never checking the pulse."

He stopped just inches away from me. I could smell the sea salt and the expensive bourbon on his breath.

"And yet you draw the line at intent," he whispered, tilting his head. "That's the lie you tell yourself to sleep at night, Zabrina."

I clenched my fists so hard my nails bit into my palms. "I don't enjoy it," I snapped, my voice trembling. "I don't watch people die and call it a 'necessary tool.' I'm not a monster, Eliot."

His green eyes darkened-not with anger, but with a weary, ancient kind of sadness. "You think I enjoy it?" He didn't challenge me; he just asked, as if he were genuinely curious about the version of him I had built in my head.

I couldn't look away. It was like looking into a mirror I had been avoiding for years. The silence between us stretched, heavy with the things we couldn't say.

"The difference between you and me," Eliot said, his voice dropping an octave, "is that I stopped lying to myself. You hesitate because you still believe the world plays fair. You think if you don't cross a line, the line will protect you." He stepped closer, his heat radiating through my damp dress. "But it won't. It just waits until you're weak enough to be pushed."

I let out a short, hollow laugh. "So that's your gospel? Kill first so you don't get pushed?"

"I eliminate threats so they don't come back for the things I care about," he corrected himself harshly.

"And who decides who's a threat? You?"

"Yes."

There was no doubt in his eyes. This wasn't the boy who used to wait for me after class. This was a man who had rebuilt himself out of the ashes of betrayal. I looked at him and realized,

with a sinking horror, that he was right. I was a weapon for Black Base, pretending I had no edge.

"Could you just leave me alone?" I whispered, my eyes burning. "Please. I need to think."

Eliot stared at me for a long beat. His hand rose as if to touch my cheek, but he caught himself and curled his fingers into a fist. Without another word, he turned and walked out. The heavy thud of the door felt like a final sentence.

The walls of the cabin felt like they were closing in. Every shadow looked like a ghost of the people on that ship. I needed air. I needed to breathe.

I made my way to the upper deck. The night air was freezing, biting through the thin white dress Elise had given me, but I welcomed the pain. It was better than the numbness. I leaned against the cold railing, staring into the black abyss of the ocean.

Am I really no different? I wondered. I had joined Black Base to find the truth, but I had stayed for the power it gave me over my own fear.

"Still sulking, kitten? I thought the sea air was supposed to clear the head, not freeze that stubborn pout to your face."

I stiffened. I hadn't even heard him approach. I turned my head to find Eliot leaning against the railing a few feet away. The moonlight hit the sharp angles of his face, making him look breathtakingly dangerous.

"I am not sulking," I hissed, trying to regain my composure. "I am reflecting."

"You've been 'reflecting' for four hours. At this rate, your brain is going to short-circuit." He sauntered toward me and stopped just shy of touching me, leaning down so our eyes were level. "What is it? Do you need a distraction? Or ... "

He leaned in closer, his voice a low, mocking vibrate against my ear. "Why are you still sulking? Do you want me to cuddle you? I hear I'm very good at keeping people warm."

"In your dreams, Eliot!" I snapped, my face heating up. I shoved past him, my skin tingling where our arms brushed.

He let out a soft, low chuckle. "Just an offer, Zabrina! Don't catch a cold!"

CHAPTER EIGHT: The Devil is the Father

The sun was blinding when I finally woke up. My head throbbed-a parting gift from the emotional exhaustion of the night before.

I stepped out onto the deck. Eliot was already there, drinking champagne and wearing sunglasses, looking every bit the billionaire tycoon on a weekend getaway. Amanda was nearby, oblivious to the world of secrets we lived in, happily folding paper birds.

"Young master, I was told that Young mistress Zen is looking for you." I heard Bill Joseph say.

My ears perked up. Zen Takahashi. The syndicate's golden girl.

"She's there," Eliot said, gesturing lazily toward a helicopter approaching from the horizon.

As the rotor blades whipped the air, I felt a surge of tactical panic. If Zen was here, she was looking for the Hope Diamond. My mission was already failing; if she got that stone, I'd never get it back to Black Base.

I couldn't let her see me as Zabrina Francisco. If a Takahashi heiress identified me as a Black Base operative, it would trigger a war. I needed a mask.

The helicopter landed, and a sharp-featured woman stepped out. Zen Takahashi. She looked like she was born to rule, every inch of her screaming wealth.

"Eliot!" she screamed. "I've been searching for you! Where is the necklace? Give it to me now!"

I turned to Bill Joseph. "What is she talking about?"

"The young master was told to give the necklace to the one he's going to marry," Bill Joseph whispered. "If Zen gets that stone, she is legally his fiancee in the eyes of the syndicate."

My heart hammered. I didn't know what was so special about that diamond other than its price, but I knew I couldn't let her have it.

I took a deep breath. It was time to play a different game.

"What necklace is she talking about, honey ...? "

I walked over and took Amanda's small hand, pulling her toward Eliot. Zen stopped in her tracks, her eyes widening.

"And who the hell are you?" Zen spat.

I blinked, acting innocent. "Oh," I said. "Pardon me. I'm Zara. And this is Amanda, our daughter."

I used the name Zara-an old alias from my early training days. It was close enough to my real name to respond to, but far enough to keep 'Zabrina Francisco' dead and buried.

"Our daughter?" Zen's jaw dropped. "Eliot, what is this bitch talking about?"

I put a hand to my chest, feigning a gasp. "How could you call me that in front of our child?" I looked at Eliot, my eyes pleading, challenging him to play along.

Eliot's lips curled into a slow, devilish grin. He reached out and wound an arm around my waist, pulling me firmly against his side. The heat of him was distracting, but I held my ground.

"I apologize for not informing you, Zen," Eliot said, his voice smooth and cold. "But I don't give the necklace to strangers. I give it to my wife."

He looked down at me, and for a split second, the lie felt terrifyingly real.

"I guess this devil is the father, huh?" I whispered so only he could hear.

"And you're the devil's wife, Zara," he whispered back.