He kept his gaze fixed on mine, careless as ever. 'You asked about the party.'
He looked down at the mess of maps on the table and said, 'There's going to be a party—an auction inside it.'
He pressed his palm to a photograph: a white mansion shot from a distance. 'The Triad Union is hosting it. The guest list is… hand-picked. Arms dealers. Major investors. Russians. Chinese.'
Bent over the table, he lifted only his eyes—teeth flashing. 'They're all trying to buy something very specific.'
I leaned in, curiosity snagging on the papers. Then I met his bright, eager eyes and waited. Still smiling, still watching me, he said, 'A painting. A very rare one.'
I tilted my head, studying a black-and-white photo of what had to be the piece. His voice slid into my ear—cool yet thrumming with heat. 'But it isn't just a painting. There's a location hidden in it—coordinates everyone in that room wants.'
I arched a brow, braced a hand on the table, and kept my eyes on the photo. 'Then the Rose Organization has to be inside that party too. The Union's their enemy—they won't pass up a chance like this.'
When I looked up, he was grinning, all teeth. He nodded, stepped back from the table. 'Correct. Ashur is being sent in by Rose—undercover—to get the painting.'
I jabbed a finger at him and came round the table to face him. 'Wait—wait—how is it happening in Paris, of all places?'
He laughed under his breath at the finger I was pointing, took a step closer, and dipped his head, hands sliding into his pockets. 'There it is… smart girl.'
With a taunting little smirk, eyes locked on my furious ones, he added, 'Zombie booked your ticket to Paris because I wanted you here. I've been setting this up for months. I just needed to make sure you'd come to France.'
I stared, stunned. My mouth fell open, no sound. Zombie was with him too? So that's why she'd helped me run without a single question. Of course. They both worked in the Organization's IT and hacking division; of course they knew each other.
I took a shaky step back, raked my fingers through my hair, ripped off my blonde wig, and dragged my hands over my temples. 'You planned to bring me here? To shove me into that party no matter what?'
He nodded like a smug schoolboy waiting for his gold star. Anger clawed up my spine. I spun in a tight circle, then gave a bitter little smile. He just watched me—calm, infuriating, that smile never moving. I dragged in a breath big enough to steady myself and said, my voice level and thin, 'So you really are Sverin Hale.'
He winked. 'The one and only.'
My teeth clicked together. 'And you hauled me to France so I could help you steal a damned painting from a hornets' nest?'
His stupid smile should not have been that attractive. He tipped his head, a slow blink—confirmation. My chest rose and fell too fast. I glanced at the table, and his voice cut through the room:
'But it isn't just a painting. Years ago, the Triad Union stole a newborn from the Rose Organization. The kid's probably fifteen now. He's being kept in a black site run by the Union. No one knows why he's special—why they took him, why they've hidden him all these years. But the painting carries the location of that child. Whoever wins the auction doesn't just buy art—they're buying the kid.'
A whisper scraped out of me. 'So Rose is sending Ashur to take back what's theirs. What was stolen.'
Memories flashed—red sirens screaming through the lab, a man shouting that a newborn had been taken—Number Ninety-Three. Is this the same child?
I forced my eyes up to meet Severin's bright, blade-sharp stare. 'And what are you going to do?'
His smile went wicked; a dangerous light lit his eyes. The last blow landed soft and merciless.
'I'm going to steal the kid.'