Page 47

And beside him walked a woman whose beauty was as striking as it was familiar. Midnight hair framed high cheekbones and full lips. But it was her eyes that made my heart stutter. Crystalline blue, so pale they seemed almost colorless. Identical to Luka's.

Beside me, Luka went absolutely still. Not tense.

Still. Like a corpse. The color drained from his face so rapidly I thought he might faint.

A tremor started in his hands, traveling up his arms until his entire body vibrated with microscopic trembling only I could feel where our shoulders touched.

His breath caught audibly, followed by a strangled sound so quiet only I could hear it.

"I wanted to offer my condolences," Prometheus said, extending a manicured hand as if we were strangers. "Lincoln Mercer. I worked with Michael on several investments. Such a tragic loss. "

Lincoln Mercer. Prometheus was giving us his real name.

I stared at the offered hand, my mind racing. He was pretending we'd never met. Playing some sick game. My fingers curled into fists, wanting to strike that practiced smile off his face.

"Mr. Mercer," I managed, my teeth grinding together so hard my jaw ached. I stared at his outstretched hand, imagining crushing each manicured finger until they snapped like twigs. I kept my hands at my sides.

"Please, call me Lincoln." His smile never wavered at my refusal. "Michael spoke highly of you. Said you helped him through some difficult times." He gestured to the woman beside him. "May I introduce my wife, Anastasia?"

Wife. Anastasia. Ana.

From the corner of my eye, I watched Luka.

His pupils contracted to pinpoints, then dilated massively, leaving only thin rings of blue around black pools.

Sweat beaded along his hairline despite the cool air.

A muscle jumped violently in his jaw, then his throat.

His lips parted, but rather than words, I heard only the soft wet sound of his tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth.

His expression screamed recognition, devastation, rage. But most of all, naked shock.

I shifted closer, my shoulder brushing his in silent support. The shudders intensified where our bodies connected, his muscles locking so tight I worried something might rupture.

She smiled politely, offering her hand. "A pleasure to meet you, Dr. Matthews. Lincoln has mentioned your work several times."

Her voice carried no trace of a Bosnian accent, unlike the hints that still colored Luka's speech during emotional moments. She sounded American, cultured, refined. And no recognition flickered in her eyes when they slid to Luka. None at all .

"And this is?" Lincoln asked, gesturing to Luka.

“You know exactly who he is.” The words escaped me in an unfamiliar growl.

"I'm afraid we haven't been properly introduced," he replied smoothly.

The game. He was going to make us play along. My jaw clenched as I forced out, "My partner. Luka."

"Ah." Pure amusement danced in those cold eyes. "A pleasure, Luka."

He extended his hand to Luka. For a long moment, Luka just stared at it. A single drop of sweat traced down his temple, following the sharp angle of his cheekbone. His right eyelid twitched once, twice. Then, moving like a marionette, he shook Prometheus's hand briefly.

I noticed how his knuckles whitened, how the tendons in his forearm stood out like cables beneath his skin. Prometheus's smile widened fractionally. He'd noticed too.

Anastasia smiled warmly at Luka, no recognition in her face. "It’s a pleasure to meet you, Luka."

Luka's breathing changed, becoming shallow and too fast. A visible tremor ran through him. His lips moved, forming what might have been "Ana" though no sound emerged.

Luka looked like a man watching his own execution. Every muscle in his body seemed locked in rigid control, as if the slightest movement might shatter him completely.

"Michael was working on something special before he died," Lincoln continued, addressing me, though his attention remained fixed on Luka. "I'd love to discuss it with you both. Perhaps dinner?"

"That's kind of you, but..."

"I insist." His tone remained pleasant. "Eight o'clock? There's a lovely Serbian restaurant downtown. My wife adores their cuisine. "

Serbian. Of course. He was flaunting it, showing Luka exactly what he'd done.

"I promise we won't take much of your time," Lincoln added, already turning to leave. "Just a quiet dinner to honor Michael's memory. Anastasia is quite interested in meeting new people."

Anastasia smiled again, still oblivious to Luka's devastation. "I hope you'll join us. It's so rare Lincoln introduces me to his friends from work."

They walked away before I could properly decline, leaving me standing next to what felt like a Luka-shaped statue.

"What the fuck just happened?" I hissed, heart hammering with shock and rage. "That's... that's Ana, isn't it? Your sister. He has your sister."

Luka made a sound so raw, so broken, it barely seemed human. His face had transformed into something I barely recognized. Grief and rage warring with shocked disbelief.

"She's alive," he whispered, the words cracking on his lips. "She's alive, and she doesn't know me."

His knees seemed to buckle slightly, and I gripped his arm to steady him. His skin burned like a fever beneath my fingers.

"She's alive and he... he..." Luka couldn't finish the sentence, horror choking the words.

"He's married her," I said, the revulsion thick in my throat. "Your sister. He's been grooming her all this time."

A sudden shudder ran through Luka's body. His eyes focused on Prometheus's retreating back, his face transforming into something barely human. Before I could react, he took three rapid steps forward, hand already reaching inside his jacket.

"Luka, no!" I lunged for him, grabbing his arm.

A figure appeared between us and Prometheus. Rhadamanthys materialized as if conjured by the promise of violence, his body blocking Luka's path. His posture seemed casual, but I noticed how he angled himself perfectly to obstruct any clear shot.

"Consider your next move carefully, Luka," Rhadamanthys said. His dark eyes flicked to Ana's retreating figure, then back to Luka. "The dead demand respect, even from men like us."

Luka trembled, rage radiating from him in waves. "She's my sister," he snarled, voice barely recognizable. "He took her. He fucking took her."

"I see it now." Something flashed across Rhadamanthys' face. Recognition. Understanding. It vanished quickly, replaced by deadly seriousness. "Blood calls to blood. But remember, it is not your place to be his executioner."

He leaned closer, all traces of his usual theatrical flair gone.

"The marriage itself, while distasteful, violates no codes.

The Tribunal requires evidence of greater transgressions.

Draw that weapon now, and the consequences will extend far beyond your own death.

You would forfeit any chance at justice.

The Tribunal will investigate these... unusual circumstances.

But we require proof, not blood spilled in blind rage. "

Luka's muscles coiled tighter, his jaw working as he fought for control. For one terrifying moment, I thought he might attack Rhadamanthys. Then something in him broke. His shoulders slumped fractionally.

"A wise choice." Rhadamanthys stepped back, straightening. "Patience yields greater rewards than impulse, no? The sister you mourned breathes. Focus on that truth. Justice and vengeance are not the same path. Remember this. "

He moved away, his usual swagger tempered by the gravity of what had transpired, leaving us standing there, shaken.

Luka's eyes focused on mine, something terrible and cold settling into them. "We're going to that dinner," he said, voice deadly quiet. "And then I'm going to kill him. I'm going to tear him apart with my bare hands."

Through my earpiece, Lo's voice crackled: "What the fuck just happened? Did Rhadamanthys just... help you?"

I looked across the cemetery to see the Judge leaning against a marble angel, eyes fixed on us.

"We'll get her back," I promised Luka, my hand finding his. "Whatever it takes."

His fingers curled around mine. "She doesn't even know who I am. What he took from her. From us."

The devastation in his voice broke my heart. All those years of nightmares, of grief and guilt over failing to save her. And all along, Prometheus had her. He'd been molding her into his perfect wife.

"We'll make him pay," I said, echoing Luka's earlier promise. "For everything."

We walked away. I glanced back once to see Rhadamanthys watching us, anticipation written across his features. The coming bloodshed would entertain him immensely.

Rules, ethics, professional boundaries. All meaningless now. I wanted Prometheus dead as badly as Luka did. For Michael. For Ana.

For Luka.