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She was just about to enter an elevator when a shadow waylaid her.

‘Fokk, you scared me,’ she muttered at the scowling man.

She recognized him, one of Helene’s private guards.

He made his demand. ‘The Donna requests your presence.’

Requests? Right.

‘Now? This late?’

He gave her a baleful look, and she sighed. ‘Lead the way.’

She followed the silent escort through the vaulted halls of theEterna’supper decks.

Past frescoes of long-dead Bianchi Dons and diamond-crusted mosaics that caught and fractured the ambient light.

The suite at the far end of the private wing was a level-one top-priority exclusive suite.

Helene Bianchi’s chambers were sacrosanct, and few dared to walk into their thresholds without being summoned.

The doors parted with a soft hiss, revealing pure decadence.

The apartment was larger than most diplomatic embassies.

It had ten bedrooms, all themed in opulent excess.

One was styled after the Sistine Salon of the Vatican, and another was in brutalist Echelonian steel and velvet. Gold veined every visible surface.

Moonstone chandeliers spun in the air, suspended by anti-grav.

A living fountain burbled in the heart of the space, crafted of crushed ruby glass and pyrite, forming the shape of a woman drowning a serpent.

At the heart of it all, lounging like a spider at the center of a bejeweled web, sat Helene Bianchi.

The matriarch wore a floor-length scarlet silk robe, embroidered with white ash serpents that curled around her hips and neck.

Her slippers were diamond-encrusted, and her wrists, throat, and ears glittered with gems.

Most that cost more than Savvine had made in six months, assuming she never took a day off.

Helene didn’t rise.

She gestured with a ring-heavy hand, her long crimson nails catching the light like knives.

‘Well? Did you meet with Eugene?’

Savvine crossed the room with careful neutrality. ‘I did.’

Helene cocked her head, expression unreadable. ‘And?’

‘He seemed fine, I suppose.’

‘How was he?’ Helena insisted.

Savvine blinked. ‘That’s an odd thing to ask. Haven’t you seen him lately?’

‘Of course,’ Helene murmured, folding her hands like a queen upon a throne. ‘But getting a second opinion is always wise. Sometimes I’m too close to Eugene to see him objectively.’