Page 47 of Gilded

MALIA

I can’t breathe. I’m sweating. I’m shaking. And my entire body hurts. Aches from the internal pain of knowing my life will end soon. That I’ll be leaving Luka forever.

I press my hand against my stomach and pace to the other end of the small space, which is a combination bathroom and sitting room. When I try to pace back, I nearly trip over my dress’s ridiculous train.

Frustrated, I fight to gather it into my arms so I can actually move. It’s just one more way I’m imprisoned and restricted. And I’m over it. Over all of it.

“Would you mind if I had some time alone?” I ask the cathedral’s wedding coordinator.

The older woman smiles. “Of course not. I’ll return to get you when it’s time.”

As she leaves, the guard standing in front of my door steps aside, and I look into the narthex just as James walks in. James . What the hell? He heads straight for Soren, and his body language is tight and urgent.

This is a strange time and place for him to show up, but my father banned him from the island. Maybe he’s just using the opportunity of having us in the city to beg for his job back.

I move to the door and open it two inches, then lean in so my ear is at the opening. I can’t hear what they’re saying, but the tone of their voices tells me something is very wrong. Then I hear James say Luka’s name, and fear streaks down my spine.

“Come with me.” Soren’s bark startles me, and I stiffen. I peek through the crack to see the guard at my door follow Soren into the church. I consider running, but it would take me too long to get out of this dress and James is still pacing just outside.

My anxiety is so high, my fingers tingle. A strap cinches around my chest. My vision goes gray around the edges. I rest my forehead against the wood, slide the dagger from beneath the sleeve, and rub the metal.

I just want this over with. I just want to get to the front of the church, turn toward the guests, and slice my neck open. I want to see bright red blood splash across this fucking dress before I leave this life.

My father’s angry voice brings my head up. “What are you doing here?”

“Luka is a traitor,” James says, laser-focused on my father and holding his phone out. “He’s been meeting with Simms.”

My father emits the same darkness I’ve felt from him my entire life. He takes the phone and swipes at the screen. “Who is this Simms?”

“An investigator for the HSI.”

“Fuck.” My father runs a hand over his mouth.

I have no idea what HSI is, but my father’s fear ratchets up my tension.

“I also think he’s the phantom,” James says.

I pull in a sharp breath.

“He has several corporations sheltering information and equipment, here and abroad,” James says. “One of those corporations owns two Blackhawks, and he went out of town the week Tabuni was hit.”

My mind grapples with this new information, but when it’s coming from James, I can’t take it at face value.

“That’s hardly proof,” my father says. “This is ridiculous. I can’t be dealing with this now?—”

“Jairo was out of town that week too,” James says.

“That doesn’t mean anything.”

“What about this?” James turns the phone back toward my father and taps the face. “This is one of his Blackhawks, parked at the Cengkareng Heliport in Indonesia, loading up with guys in camo head to toe, M-4s on their shoulders the night Tabuni was killed.”

I see movement on the phone, but nothing else. Still, the claim that Luka is the phantom somehow slides perfectly into the puzzle in my head, solving lingering questions and creating a three-dimensional view of who and what Luka truly is.

“And his name by birth is Luka Bravo,” he tells my father. “Not Arias.”

A burst of darkness explodes inside my father. His head tilts slightly. “Bravo.”

“And he was born in Venezuela,” Soren adds.

I have no idea why any of that means something to my father, but his jaw hardens. Even with only a side view of his face, I know that expression. This is bad. Very bad.

My memory backtracks to that night at the dinner table when my father said Luka looked familiar. “What is happening?” I whisper. “What the fuck is happening?”

“What’s going on?” Luka’s voice makes my heart jump, and I spin back to see him join the group and cut a glare toward James. “What’s he doing here?”

My heart is beating in my ears, making it hard to hear. Luka’s in a three-piece suit, hair gelled and styled, looking strong and confident, but tension radiates from him in waves. It feels like I haven’t seen him in a month, and yearning closes my throat.

My father holds James’s phone out to Luka. “What’s this?”

Luka looks at the images, and his tension ramps up a notch. “Simms. He’s been dogging me for information on you. I told him to go fuck himself.”

“Why do you own Blackhawks?” Soren demands.

Luka’s posture and expression give nothing away. He just looks annoyed. I’d assume James is trying to make something out of nothing for revenge, but from the emotions swirling inside Luka, I’m not sure anymore.

“I also own Apaches and Vipers,” he says. “I’m a collector. So what?”

My father swipes the phone’s screen. “And this?”

He looks at the phone a minute and shrugs. “I have no idea.”

“That’s you,” James says. “You and your team going to take out Tabuni.”

Luka scoffs. “You’re a moron. That’s not me.” He looks at Soren, then my father. “Are you seriously going to take the word of this lazy ass who would have let Malia get her head chopped off? I’m the one who saved your most valuable asset, along with a billion a year. What has he done for you?”

“It’s the tail number of one of your choppers,” James says, voice filled with accusation.

“You’re pathetic,” Luka says with a shake of his head. “I rent them out to the military for training. That must be one of their exercises. You really need to look deeper if you’re going to accuse someone of something so ludicrous.”

Just when I think my father’s going to tell James to leave, he whips out a weapon and points it at Luka’s forehead.

Right against his forehead.

My heart skips, and my body goes cold. “No,” I rasp.

The guards also pull weapons, all of them pointed at Luka. Unexpectedly, the vibrations he’s emitting smooth into one intense, focused beam.

“Why are you using the name Arias when your name is Bravo?”

Luka’s jaw clenches. “Get that fucking gun off me, and I’ll tell you.”

“Tell me now,” my father demands.

I want to scream. To do something to break this up. Something to get that gun away from Luka. But if I choose wrong, I could start a massacre.

“I wanted to leave my past behind,” Luka says.

“I bet you did.” My father shakes his head. “I knew I recognized you.”

My throat shrinks.

“I look like every other—” Luka starts.

“Every other kid I tossed to the wolves? No. I still have a fucking scar where you bit me.”

Everything inside me seizes. My heart, my lungs, my brain. Oh. My. Fucking. God.

My fingers tighten, and I feel the knife in my hand.

An entirely different sensation bursts from Luka, one I’ve never felt, but can fully understand: vengeance. Luka smiles. A slow, wicked-evil, satisfied smile, and I know my father is right. They have crossed paths.

My father’s hand shifts, getting a better grip on the gun, and a tingling wash of heat flushes my body.

I don’t have a plan when I swing the door open and rush out. Everything shifts into slow motion and every moment comes into acute focus as if I’m watching it, not doing it.

In the split second it takes me to reach them, my mission crystallizes into sharp focus.

“ No! ” I’m not sure if the word comes out of my mouth, but it’s rattling inside my brain as I raise the knife, gripped in both hands.

Luka’s gaze darts to me, and as soon as my father glances over his shoulder, Luka sweeps my father’s weapon away from his head, and I scream as I use all my strength to bring the knife down.

I don’t feel it pierce my father’s skin. Don’t hear flesh tear or bone shatter. But I see blood spurt from the wound. Taste the copper. Smell the sickly metallic scent. Feel its warmth.

His hands fly to the knife, and he grapples for the handle, but his fingers slip off the bloody metal. His hand finds mine, but his strength is gone, and I easily control the blade.

A flurry of noise and movement explodes around us—shots, yells, running, screaming, but I barely notice.

I’m holding my father’s gaze as imminent death registers and panic floods his expression.

He wobbles and drops to his knees, leaving me holding a dripping knife.

He falls over, hand at his neck, blood seeping between his fingers and coating the marble floor in a dark red pool.

He struggles to breathe as the blood pumping out of his neck slows. And I see the moment he’s gone. The moment his eyes go glassy.

And with him, the darkness that has hovered over me my entire life lifts like a storm clearing, leaving me feeling fresh and crisp and clean.

An overwhelming wave of relief loosens my muscles, and I drop the knife and stumble backward. My back hits a wall, keeping me upright as I stare at the sight of the monster I called my father dead at my feet.

I’m shaking and dizzy, but my mind is screaming, I’m free. I’m finally fucking free.

I’ll probably go to prison for killing him, but it can’t be any worse than where I spent the first twenty-one years of my life.

“ Malia! ”

My name echoes in my head, but my brain isn’t working. I feel numb yet elated. Sickened yet relieved.

“Malia . Are you bleeding? Are you hurt? Malia. Talk to me! ”

Luka’s voice registers, but I’m dazed. Overwhelmed.

There’s a spray of blood across his face and the front of his suit.

I look down at myself and see what I visualized from the moment the housekeeper set Soren’s knife into my hand.

A stunning, sparkling, electric-white gown soaked in crimson.

It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.

That evil joy returns, making me laugh. And as soon as the sound emerges, I realize it’s not laughter. It’s hysteria.

Luka is alive. My father’s dead.

As my vision darkens around the edges and the strength leaves my legs, one thought fills my mind: All is right with the world.