around her, hugging her close. Nero. “Sssh, it’s all right. He’s already dead. He didn’t suffer.” He kissed her temple.
She tried not to weep. That man plotted to kill Nero. It was eat or be eaten. That is what it means to rule. She sank into his arms, buried her head in his shoulder, and bit back her tears. She didn’t hate Nero for what he had done. But she couldn’t help but mourn the dead man.
“Come on, sweet girl. Let’s go. Killing someone always makes me thirsty, and it’s almost noon.” He stood, helped her to her feet, and led her from the room. She was glad to be away from the sound of fire and the smell of burning.
He handed her a drink. Something strong. She sipped it thankfully. She wasn’t one for hard alcohol—she preferred wine—but she needed something to help the trembling in her hands.
“So,” Nero began, “is the wedding off?”
She shook her head. “I do not like that you kill, Nero. I would ask you not to do it. But I know it’s…sometimes necessary. I suppose the best I could do would be to ask you not to kill for pleasure.”
“I have other things I can do for pleasure.” He kissed her temple. “Don’t worry. Killing isn’t one of them.”
Thank the fates for small favors, she supposed.
Nero looked down at the paper on his desk. He stared at it for a long time. It wasn’t a congratulatory notice, or an acceptance to a wedding invitation like the rest of his mail. It was a report.
He rubbed his hand over his hair, mussing it up. He didn’t care. This wasn’t good—this wasn’t good at all.
“You’re sure about this?” he asked Kema. She was the one he had put in charge of this project. It was an important one, and so there was nobody else he trusted with it.
“I’m sure. I had to break a few fingers.” She leaned on the desk. “Well, okay, I had Bruno break a few fingers. But I’m sure. That’s the truth, right there, in black and white.”
Nero groaned and thumped his head on the desk, resting his forehead there. “This is not good.”
“Are you going to tell her?” Kema picked up the piece of paper and re-read it.
“How can I not tell her? She deserves to know.” He picked his head up and sat back in the chair, rubbing his hands over her face and scratching at his head. “Oh, fates. Oh, fuck. This is…she’s not going to take this well.”
He snatched the paper back from Kema and placed it down on the desk. It was the results of the search for whoever had made Hope’s necklace. They tracked the gold maker down to a jeweler in Rome. They were local—which wasn’t a surprise. But what was surprising was the name attached to the purchase of such a unique and very expensive slave chain.
It was a name he knew. Well, no, it was a title he knew. The title was the important part. He knew the name of the person who had sold Hope into slavery. The one who had cursed her to that life. One where she was the subject of the whims of others. One where she had no choice over anything in her life.
But now that he knew…he didn’t know how to tell her.
He growled and pressed the heels of his palms into his cheekbones, trying to relieve the sudden headache he felt growing at the back of his head.
If I can’t tell her—then they can.
“Bring them here. They owe her an explanation. Now. I can’t sit on this information.”
“Way ahead of you. They’re already in a car on the way.”
“That’s why I love you, princess.” He folded up the piece of paper and tucked it into his pocket. He’d have to present the culprit with proof, one. And two, he couldn’t risk Hope finding it.
Then he remembered she couldn’t read.
I’m an idiot.
He got up to get a glass of alcohol. He was going to need to be a little drunk to survive what was about to happen.
“Be prepared for a lot of screaming and yelling,” he warned Kema as he poured himself a martini. “A lot of screaming.”
“I’ve cleared out the rest of the staff. I think she’ll want to have this be a private moment.”
“Yet again, this is why I love you, princess.” He smiled at her. “You’re a good friend. To both of us.”
Kema smiled. “Anytime.”
Nero took in a deep breath, let it out, chugged