Page 2 of The Prince of Hidden Shadows (Runaway Prince Hotel #5)

Chapter One

EVERYBODY WANTS TO RULE THE WORLD

Théo

T he towering hotels cast long shadows over narrow streets, juxtaposed with older Belle époque-style facades near the casino. Under the streetlights of the Principality of Monaco, their ornate details glow softly.

The combination of modern opulence and historic charm creates a setting that’s oddly both glamorous and tightly wound, much like the tension prickling along my spine—ridiculous, really, but impossible to ignore—about the upcoming meeting.

“Damn, what’s up with this weather?” I curse under my breath, shivering under the unusual wind that bites at my cheeks as I enter the building, tightening my scarf around my frozen neck.

It’ll be Valentine’s Day in a couple of days, and it’s meant to be all hearts and flowers, but not in the middle of a February chill. Don’t get me wrong, I’m the epitome of anti-romantic and loathe the annual display.

But still, this doesn’t feel like a time for celebration at all.

Monaco’s weather should be mild this season, yet the briny cold cuts through—steeped in the Mediterranean’s salt.

A shame the situation keeps me from appreciating the scenery as I should.

A couple of years have passed since I set foot here, and I was eager about the trip.

But that visit happened in summertime, and I’d found a hookup who volunteered to play tour guide during the extended weekend I spent here, connecting with potential clients.

That was then, this is now.

Slowly fumbling with the buttons of my heavy coat, I step off the elevator, buzz the doorbell, and offer a businesslike smile at the tall, well-groomed man who resembles Lurch from The Addams Family. He ushers me into the penthouse after announcing my arrival.

“Good evening, Dolus. An honor to meet you, at last.” He extends his hand, his voice collected. “I’m Alexis. So that’s the face behind the legend.” Flattery or sincerity? Hard to tell.

I couldn’t care less that he addresses me in English—business runs smoother that way. The missing last name? Irrelevant. He’s not the client. I suspect he’s an associate of the man I’m here to see.

Something about his delivery—measured, devoid of pretense—lingers. And it’s the steadiness of his outstretched hand that gives me pause. Just for a second.

I clasp it, nodding in return, and realize I’m playing the part a little too stiffly. This setting. This meeting. This client. Serious player. I’ve pulled off worse with less. But my jaw’s tight. Alexis downplays the atmosphere of the room.

My clients aren’t privy to my actual identity, and that’s for the best. Same with revealing my appearance.

My reputation usually precedes me, so showing my face only occurs when a business deal is about to be executed.

Even then, with the help of a precious connection, I can alter my facial features and my body shape—thanks to a few trinkets once used in movies.

“Mister Volkoff is expecting you,” he adds, leading the way across the corridor and through a set of double doors.

The suite is immaculate, all sleek surfaces and muted gold accents, but the pristine white walls, adorned with modern art pieces—not my favorites—seem to absorb the tension in the air, reflecting it back tenfold.

Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, the glittering lights of the harbor are barely visible through a thin mist rolling in off the water. It makes everything claustrophobic, even with such an unrivaled view.

I brushed off the chill on my way here, yet this room holds a different coldness, unrelated to the weather.

The soft light of the penthouse suite cuts through the haze of expensive cigars and muted conversation.

I sit at the head of a slick marble table that might be worth more than my apartment back in Paris—if I hadn’t given it up.

Claiming the chair reserved for someone more.

.. established is a power move. But this isn’t my first rodeo, but I’m still young, and some of my potential clients enjoy testing my nerves.

No one stops me. That’s been the trick since I started in this business: Act like you belong, and they let you.

Across from me, Stanislas Volkoff adjusts his gold cufflink with a flick of his wrist. The sharp angles of his face don’t betray an ounce of softness.

It must be why he looks older than his forties.

Beside him stands a much younger woman, draped in pearls rich with untold stories.

The others—three men and another woman—watch me like I’m a horse they’re thinking of betting on.

Although I’m outnumbered, I stand tall. I am not bulky by any means, but none of them scare me.

As odd as it may seem, my line of work requires me to be trained in several martial arts.

I can handle most of them without too much of a hassle.

Being prepared has always been the priority on the job—you never know who you might come across.

So, here I am, staring them in the eye for a bit while Volkoff plays the perfect host.

Once we’ve all appraised each other and we’re all sitting around the marble table, he eventually says, “You understand the terms, Do-lus ?” His voice is smooth, deliberate.

I pretend not to notice the hint of amusement that rolls off his poisonous tongue when he slowly pronounces my nickname.

His dark eyes hold mine, and it’s clear that he’s well-aware of its origin.

I’d enjoy chatting with this well-read man under other circumstances, but I’ll never be ready to confess that said nickname is a tribute to my late dad, from whom I inherited my passion for Greek mythology.

I lean back in my chair, inwardly berating myself for my inability to hide a faint smile. “Of course, Mr. Volkoff. Though I have to admit, I’m surprised you came to me. From what I’ve gathered, your organization prefers more… traditional solutions."

Volkoff’s mouth twitches. A chuckle, maybe.

Or a growl. Hard to tell with men like him.

But his reputation? Subtlety never made the list. His crew acts without caring about consequences or retaliation.

Why a change of strategy? “This operation is important to me for reasons that are none of your concern. I have too many enemies already waiting for my crew to slip. I won’t give them the pleasure of tracing this back to me.

I decided to trust your skills to avoid trails on this one. ”

Is he testing me?

Incapable of reining in my annoyance, I tap the side of the table. “And I don’t leave any. Ever.”

“Precisely.” He nods to one of his men, who slides a file folder across the table toward me.

“I trust you.” I open it, revealing a photograph of a painting.

My chocolate eyes widen as my pulse trips over itself.

“This,” Volkoff continues louder, leaning forward, “is what we need. The painting called?—”

“ Hidden Shadows ,” I cut him off. I’m far from an art expert, but I recognize a rarity when I see one. Before I can catch myself, a grin flashes on my face.

Until this very moment, they hadn’t revealed what they were after.

Volkoff’s reputation alone intrigued me.

In my world, he’s known to work with more high-profile criminals rather than con artists like me.

One of his henchmen contacted me out of nowhere.

I took the bait and agreed to the meeting without knowing much about the deal.

Truth be told, I wouldn’t have believed them.

Giving the picture a closer look, I forget to breathe. My cheeks flush.

Despite the painting’s dark hues, its vibrant reds and golds shine, even in the room’s sterile light.

It’s in my blood—I chase beautiful things.

No wonder I figured out how to get paid for it.

It has nothing to do with material possessions, but everything to do with the conquest and satisfaction of achieving my goal.

Keeping the prize isn’t the idea. Whether it’s shiny objects or gorgeous men, I can’t allow myself to become attached.

Business is business, and I always come after my work ethic, literally.

That’s the real celebration of success, isn’t it?

“I never thought I’d see the day when I’d be able to lay eyes on it.” It was on my father’s bucket list. “Let alone steal it!” I conclude. Heat rises from the back of my neck. This time, I conceal my excitement under a practiced poker face.

“The legend claims a Greek god is responsible for this masterpiece,” the woman with the pearls—who Volkoff introduced as Natasha earlier— deadpans.

Her voice is as crisp as what I believe is a Chanel suit, and a stark contrast to the telltale Victorian gothic look that I’ve perfected over the years.

Greek gods… riiight! Yeah, I’ve heard the ludicrous rumors. Seriously? Who would buy into that bullshit? Well, my client’s organization apparently , I remind myself without voicing my thoughts aloud.

As much as I love mythology, it makes zero sense, especially since its style is more reminiscent of the Italian Renaissance. I bet the legend that creates a mystical atmosphere around a painting serves to increase its value.

Not my problem.

I heave a soft chuckle and turn to Volkoff again. “It’s based on The Divine Comedy by Dante Alighieri.” Dated around 1443? Greek gods, my ass! “I wasn’t aware of the impending exhibition. It’s a first, isn’t it?”

Volkoff juts his chin my way, acknowledging my assessment.

“Indeed. It is currently in the hands of a private collector in Zurich, but will soon be transferred to Princedelphia, Oregon. I’m sure you know about this coastal town that’s not so anonymous when all the fancy princes from even fancier kingdoms stay there.

My intel gathered that the Princedelphia Metropolitan Museum is about to open a new wing devoted to art from these kingdoms. That’s the reason why the precious, legendary painting is landing there as we speak.

The grand opening is scheduled two weeks from today.

But we, of course, expect you to proceed in a timely manner.

” He coughs lightly, shooting me an amused glance. “Nice outfit. Is it bespoke?”

“I thought we were here to talk about business, not fashion,” I quip.

My client nods. “We’ll cover your accommodations in the best of ways as well as transport—whatever you require.”

“I usually travel business class.” I let a grin slip.

“Look on page 3,” Volkoff says, leaning forward. “The contract terms are generous… We understand the risks.”

I keep my mouth shut and read every single word to avoid any potential hidden meanings that would trick me and contradict our initial agreement, feigning nonchalance at the amount.

“Of course. And we’ve arranged for you to stay at the Renversé Hotel.

That’s where the runaway princes allegedly take refuge, so you might encounter some of them.

Who knows?” Needless to say, I don’t believe in their existence, but why tell Volkoff and his goons?

What matters is the mission. The thrill.

The money. In truth, strategy is my biggest drive, but I can’t ignore the fun of the game.

“Should you… make any mistakes, you’re on your own, and you’ll owe us, Dolus,” Natasha adds.

How dare she? I meet her stare with a raised eyebrow and a confident smile until she backs off. I close the folder, my hand resting over it. Now, my attention ping-pongs between them, weighing the silence.

Volkoff cuts her a brief, reassuring glance. Could she be the one in charge after all? “Dolus came highly recommended by the McPherson family, Natasha.” Her lips quirk up. “I trust him, and so should you.”

“Fine, fine…” she grumbles, her cheeks reddening.

Then, Volkoff turns his full focus on me. “Like I said, take as much time as you need.” His tight smile conveys the exact opposite, betraying his impatience. “But don’t mistake our patience for leniency.” Took him long enough to reveal his true nature. As if I’d been duped.

I meet his warning with one of my own, mirroring his words. “And don’t mistake my charm for carelessness. If you want this done right, you let me run the show.”

The room falls silent for a moment. Then Volkoff leans back, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

“I believe we’re on the same page, Dolus.”

“Indeed.” I rise to my feet, straightening my jacket. “Oregon’s a bit bleak this time of year, though I can’t complain with the conditions.”

We shake hands without pointless platitudes.

Minutes later, I head for the door, bracing against the chill that promises what awaits me in Oregon. I hate the cold. I hate the rain. I hate the snow.

A mental note: no more winters chasing storms. Next time, somewhere hot as hell!

I steady myself, sensing their eyes on me. Watching. Wondering. Weighing.

Who cares? They can play it tough, but I know the truth they don’t say out loud: They need me more than I need them.

Guess I’m heading to Oregon to meet some otherworldly princes and get my hands on a beauty then.

Game on.