Chapter One Hundred and Ninety-Three
Malachi's POV
The club was exactly what Maurice had described.
Expensive. Exclusive. The kind of place where money bought silence and privacy was the most valuable commodity on the menu. Dark wood paneling. Low lighting. Staff who looked straight ahead and saw nothing.
We'd been inside for twenty minutes. Positioned at a corner table with a clear view of the entrance and every exit.
Rose was at the bar. Violet was in the corridor near the private dining rooms. Maurice sat across from me nursing a glass of whiskey he hadn't touched.
"They're late," he said quietly.
"Emily's always been precise. If she's late, it's deliberate."
"She's watching. Making sure we didn't bring an army."
"Let her watch."
I picked up my glass. Set it back down without drinking. My mind wasn't here. Wasn't fully present in this expensive Parisian club with its low music and oblivious clientele.
My mind was with Alicia.
Her last message.
