Double Dealing(89)

“What I did, I did for you too!” I yelled back. “The phoenix must rise!”

“This phoenix rose on her own, thank you very much!” She spat back, her tone low and growling. “I was not named to be the mother of a traitor. Your brother has always been your biggest supporter, and you repay him by selling him to the fucking Russians?”

I wanted to argue, but the look in her eyes was implacable. Finally, I lowered my head and shook regretfully, knowing what I had to say next, even if it hurt her feelings. “It doesn't matter, mother. I’m the King now, and that is all there is to it. The other family leaders — they swore the oath.”

“You are not the King,” Syeira said, her voice the calmest I had heard since coming into the room. “Felix did not abdicate the title, nor is he dead. He is still King.”

I laughed harshly and looked at my aunt. “A fact that is not proven. Regardless of how I did it, fratricide is not against Romani law. My title is still mine, as is the power of the oath.”

Syeira shook her head, indicating the two men who had arrived with De la Rosa. “These men are from our allies in the Black Sea tribes. They have confirmed for me that Felix is being held in an estate belonging to Vladimir Ilyushin, a member of the Russian Mafia. That information has been passed along to the rest of the senior tribe members.”

“I know the name,” I said. “We have dealt with the Russians before, but never with him directly.”

“We are waiting, but the Black Sea Romani have promised to e-mail me pictures within twelve hours of Felix, alive and at the estate,” Syeira said. “It took some influence, but they are willing to support us.”

“On what?” I asked, dumbfounded. “Are you planning to rescue him or something?”

Charani left her seat and came over in front of me. I looked down at my mother, and in a flash of movement so fast I didn't even see her move, she slapped my face. “If you have any honor left in that black pit you call a heart, you will have answered that question for yourself already.”

“Mother . . .” I said softly, her anger breaking through my emotional shield. “Please, don't you understand?”

“I understand that at this moment, I would rather have died with your Father than have seen you betray your own blood like this. I would rather have been childless than to see this day.”

She turned and followed Jordan out of the barge, leaving me with our visitors and Syeira, whose eyes burned with just as much anger as her sister's, but had remained in control of herself. “You have two options, Francois,” Syeira said, her voice cold and heartless after Charani left. Romani or not, she was an aristocrat, one who'd grown up in the bloodline of generations of ruling people whose code made Machiavelli look soft. “You can either atone for your actions by lending your considerable talents to the rescue of your brother, or you can run. You have enough money in your personal bank accounts that I’m sure you'd make a decent go of it. But know that if you do, after our tribe rescues Felix, we will come after you. No matter if you run to the ends of the Earth, one day you will find my hand on the handle of a knife twisting into your heart.”

I sagged into the chair behind me, tears finally falling from my cheeks. Her words destroyed every bit of resistance left in me, and I felt hopeless, defeated beyond all measure. “I . . . I've lost it all,” I whispered, ignoring everyone around me. “The title, the position, my honor. Even Jordan . . .”

“Perhaps, just perhaps, you have a chance to redeem yourself.”

“And if I try, and I fail?” I ask, looking up at her, who shrugged, crossing her arms. We both knew the answer to that. If I failed, I might as well die beside my brother. “I understand. What can you tell me about this estate?”



* * *



By the time De la Rosa and the men from the Black Sea tribes left, it was nearly midnight. Syeira had left an hour after I sat down with the men in order to learn what they knew, going out to get her sister and Jordan. They returned a while after sunset, carrying bags that ended up containing sandwiches they'd gotten from a street vendor. I noticed that when they were divvied out that I got the smallest, but by that point I didn't care. All I wanted was to regain some trust in Jordan's eyes, no matter how unlikely that was.

I sat up at the kitchen table, staring at the computer screen in front of me. Even I had to admit that I was disgusted by what I'd done to Felix, looking at the way he was being treated. While the reports were jumbled, him being kept in a cargo container was disturbing. I wasn't sure what some of it was, but the people who’d sighted Felix hadn't been able to get close enough to find out for sure. All they knew was that he was being kept like some kind of pet. I was disgusted at how weak I was — at how I let my thirst for greed get the better of me.