“The financier?” I ask in surprise. “I thought his wife and son died in a plane crash almost twenty years ago.”
“That was the going theory.”
I sip my drink to ponder this bit of news.
“My father told me that he’d figured out the man was pretty much the ring leader for the operation, even above the president of the bank himself. It was only years later that I learned that the president of that bank, Noah Wolff—”
“The Luxembourg Launderer?”
I nod. “I learned he was just as innocent as my father was. His only crime was being so blind to it all for almost five years. Knowing my father, he wouldn’t have gone to Noah without definite proof, even if he’d had his suspicions. By the time he had it, no one was listening to him.
“At any rate, my father went to confront Richard Coleman. He never came back.”
Suddenly I’m no longer drinking.
“That must have been what finally convinced my mother of the truth. I knew what she was doing was dangerous, but I was just as filled with rage as she was, so I never stopped her from publicizing it.
“One man came to see her, to sit down and have a frank discussion about what she was doing. Gabriel Fouché. He has always served as a sort of spokesperson for the group involved in the laundering scheme. By then, I was good at overhearing things I shouldn’t hear. Unlike my mother, I was smart enough to operate in silence. He warned her about the danger she was putting herself in by airing the crimes of certain powerful individuals, men who the bank had been not just hiding money for, but cleaning it in such a way that it was untouchable.
“It isn’t only drug cartels and other underworld figures who need to hide and clean money. It’s men like Gabriel who own tech companies that have no problem doing business with the sorts of people you’d find on no-fly lists.
“When my mother finally pointed the finger at him as one of the criminals my father was investigating, I saw the look on his face from where I had hidden myself. When she was strangled a few days later, I knew exactly who was responsible, even if he hadn’t done the dirty work himself.”
Magnus stops, swirling his drink around as he stares at a side wall. When he brings his gaze back to me, it’s perfectly level. “The one who actually took her life is probably fully decomposed in a forest somewhere by now.”
The lack of reaction on my part, either externally or internally, confirms just how immune I am to this world Magnus lives in. Truthfully, there’s a small part of me that admires his dedication to an eye for an eye.
“He’s the only one you killed?”
Magnus simply nods once.
My brow wrinkles in thought.
“So, who is Fabian?”
Chapter Thirty-Four
Magnus
“That’s jumping slightly ahead, but I’ll tell you. Fabian was my trusted assistant. He knew more about me and my actions than anyone. More importantly, he was loyal…to a fault as it turns out.
He was on a mission to discover the location of one of the men involved in the laundering scheme. Thomas Schroder, a name on the list of people I plan on brining down—or in this case, handing off to the son of the owner of the bank my father worked at, Luca Wolff. He’ll seek out his own revenge. Thomas has been hiding out in Brazil as it turns out.
“Unfortunately, Gabriel discovered what he was up to. Fabian died protecting my secrets, considering the evidence of torture on his body when he was found.”
I take a sip of my brandy to calm the fire roaring in my head.
Sloane brings her hand up to take a sip, and I watch it tremble. “Do you know who killed him?”
“Yes.”
She correctly interprets the intent behind my gaze. “Jan Vorster.”
Again, I nod. “He has a particular methodology for getting information. That’s how I know it was him.”
I’m surprised to see the fire that instantly comes to her eyes. I thought the name alone, now colored with the revelation of his exploits, would cause her to tremble even more. But her hand is steady as she brings her glass up to take a sip, eyeing me over the rim.
“So why doesn’t Gabriel just have you killed as well instead of using me to get to you?”
“I have no doubt that, given time, he will have me killed. Or at least try. But I know him well enough to understand how much it would mean to him to witness my humiliation, especially in terms of business. He’s been the victim of a few of my schemes, and he wants an eye for an eye. In case you hadn’t noticed, he’s a sucker for biblical themes. If he can thwart my big plans before I can complete them, it would make the final kill that much more enjoyable for him.”
“It seems you two have a lot in common.”
She doesn’t say it in a judgmental way, which adds another level to my appreciation for her.
“So, what are you going to do about Gabriel?” She asks.
I consider her for a moment. The fact that she’s posed the question, especially with the look in her eyes, tells me that my instinct was right, she’s not all that different from me after all.
“What would you advise, counselor?”
Sloane smiles. It slowly fades, and she looks off to the side.
“Don’t.”
Her eyes flash back up to me.
“Don’t back down now, Sloane.”
“I’m not a murderer.”
“Neither am I.”
Her eyes narrow to indicate a sardonic difference of opinion on the matter.
“I’m an exacter of justice.”
“Monte Carlo’s very own Batman.”
“If you knew what Jan had planned for you when this is all over, you might not be so blithe about the matter.” I swirl my drink around. “Jan is the one who handles Gabriel’s dirty work. That includes getting rid of extraneous, for lack of a better word, trash. Best case scenario, he keeps your brother on a short leash since he seems to have a particularly useful talent, using you and the rest of your family as the carrot on a stick to keep him in line.”
Even with how incensed she becomes, I can see her mind putting that thought into place and noting how well it fits with the rest of what she knows about this situation she finds herself in.
“Worst case scenario, you both end up like Linus Caldwell.”
“So what am I supposed to do? I can’t go back empty-handed.”
“You won’t have to. Instead, you’re going to help me kill him. Then you’ll both be safe.”
Sloane’s eyes go wide with shock.
“I’m not like you. I can’t just…” She lets the rest trail off.
“I wasn’t like me…until I had to be.”
“Had to or wanted to?”
“I was fortunate enough to be too young to do anything when my parents died. I had five years to swim beneath the surface, assuring the men responsible that I was ignorant as to what they’d done, as harmless as a guppy. But why live life as a guppy, when you can be a shark?”
I lean in closer, resting my elbows on my knees as I penetrate her with my gaze.
“You see, Sloane, guppies are nothing but fish food. Maybe they get snatched up to live a pathetic but safe life in a two-by-three fish tank. Maybe they stay in the ocean, just one in a school of hundreds of others like them. Or maybe they get eaten by one of any number of predators in the sea who will think nothing more of it than a small snack to tide them over. Even in death, they mean nothing.
“But a shark? Even those of us at the top of the food chain safely outside of the ocean tremble in fear at the mere thought of them. Wherever they go, they have an impact. No one makes movies about guppies, Sloane.”
“Better to be feared than loved,” she muses.
“The lady knows her Machiavelli, which is telling.”
“Perhaps the man shouldn’t read too much into that.”
“But we both know he was right. It is better to be feared than loved, at least when it comes to getting what you want.”
“And what will you d
o when this is all done? Speaking of which, when will you be done?”
I stare at her thoughtfully for a moment. “My original deadline was age thirty-five, the same age my mother was when she died. That’s what? Only six years older than you?”
Sloane’s gaze softens, and she nods.
“I have a little over a year left—and three men to deal with: Jan Vorster, Gabriel Fouché, and Richard Coleman. The latter, only if the Pirate fails at his job.”
Sloane’s eyes narrow in thought, counting up all three in her head. “Is that enough time?”
“Yes.”
She exhales a soft, wary laugh at my blunt answer. “And then what? It seems all you know how to do is destroy. Have you tried living?”
Now it’s my turn to laugh, much bolder and heartier than her.
“Who says I haven’t been living? It’s perfectly acceptable to entertain your worst vices, especially when they synch so well with your natural inclination to survive.”
“You mean exact revenge.”
“You say that like they’re conflicting ideas. In my experience, they’re one in the same. I wouldn’t have been able to do what I do if the men I targeted didn’t have sins of their own that they were slaves to. Greed. Lust. Envy. Gluttony. Take your pick. There’s a reason they bring about a man’s downfall.”
She gives me a cool smirk. “Now, you’re the avenging angel?”
I lean back in my chair and take a sip of my brandy before answering.
“Do you know how I made my first million?”
Her brow lowers with curiosity. “How?”
“A mineral and oil speculator named Hector Crane. At the time, he’d had a run of bad luck with his land purchases.” I smirk at the look Sloane gives me. “No, not due to any of my meddling. All the same, when his corporation took out a substantial loan, I knew he had something big, and more importantly, a sure thing, coming.
“At the time, I was only twenty-two. That’s how long it took me to build up enough funds to do anything worthwhile. Almost ten years after the murder of my parents and I couldn’t even make much of a dent until that point. But, as they say, revenge is a dish best served cold.”
“You must have stayed pretty hot if your resentment carried you for that long.”
“And it has yet to cool down.”
Sloane swallows hard at the low timbre of my voice. “Let me guess; you outbid him?”
“That I did, but first I had to find out what the deal was and what his bid was going to be.”
Sloane narrows her gaze. “I suspect this is where the real story is.”
“I always figured you for an astute mind.”
“Do tell,” she says with sly amusement.
“I slept with his wife.”
“Admirable.” Her voice and gaze are both dripping with sarcasm. “I suppose he brought that on himself?”
“Do you know how easy it is to seduce a woman in a loveless marriage? A woman who has been publicly humiliated by her husband’s flings for years? A woman who has wasted what she assumes are the best years of her life on a heartless man?”
“You make her sound so pathetic.”
“When she was with me, I guarantee you she felt anything but.”
There’s a slight bristling at that. I’d like to attribute it to jealousy.
“So good, she just gave you the information?”
“There might have been a bit of blackmail involved. A prenup, which left her with nothing if there was proof of cheating—only on her end, of course.”
“So…you prey on helpless women in order to get back at the men who wronged you?”
My lips curl into a smile. “She wasn’t quite that helpless as it turns out. Never underestimate the ingenuity of a motivated woman. You of all people should know that, Sloane.”
I smile at the way her nostrils flare with anger.
“You’re comparing my threat of death to her cheating on her husband?”
“I think you have the roles reversed. I believe in this scenario, you and I are the same. Predators.”
I’m both pleased and surprised to find a slight glow in her eyes at the descriptor.
“Except you were successful. What happened to the prey in this instance?”
“She made out quite well. Her husband had been stupid enough to underestimate her. He never assumed that being careless in what he said around her would result in his being outbid by an unknown player. Further proof that he only thought of her as window dressing.
“As for the woman, I suggested she cut her losses in the marriage and divorce him. It worked out for her in the end when she did just that, and then, via various LLCs, she shorted the stock of his company just before he was underbid in this final, but unsuccessful Hail Mary of his.”
“I wonder where she got that idea, one that sounds decidedly like insider trading.”
“Fortunately, at the time, there was still a money-laundering operation she could take advantage of to cover her tracks,” I say, hearing the slightly dark tone in my voice.
“And Hector Crane?”
“Bankruptcy, of course. The loan was called in. He had already spent half, thinking the bid was his. Complete insolvency. He never really recovered and two years later had a heart attack. Hector was one of the first men on my list. From there, it was easy. As they say, the first million is the hardest…so is the first kill.”
“I’m sorry, was this supposed to be a persuasive tale?”
“You came to Monte Carlo to learn about me, about what I’m up to.”
Sloane goes still, waiting for me to continue.
“Did you ever stop to consider that you might learn something about yourself? Are you sure coming to Monte Carlo was all Jan’s idea?”
Her body goes erect in that regal way she has about her. “What are you implying?”
“I think you know exactly what I’m implying.”
“If he got the idea that I’d have sex with you in order to get this information, then both he and you are quite wrong.”
“And yet…” I say, taunting her with one eyebrow raised.
“That was…that had nothing to do with this.”
“Didn’t it?”
“You think I fucked you to get this information from you?”
“No, I think you fucked me because you wanted to. As did I. Like I said, you and I are two of a kind. Which is why you showed your cards almost as easily as I’ve shown mine.”
“A momentary lapse on my part. Trust me, I don’t plan on being that easy in the future.”
“Good,” I say, downing the rest of my drink. I catch the sudden reaction from Sloane, though she desperately tries to hide it. It’s a response she wasn’t expecting—and one she certainly doesn’t like.
When I set the glass down, I give her a hard stare, one usually reserved for my enemies.
“Because I’m still savoring the hunt.”
Chapter Thirty-Five
Sloane
When he first rebuked my declaration by implying he didn’t want me, I’m ashamed to admit how hurt I was. It wasn’t even the sting of rejection—it was the sting of rejection from him.
And then came the twist.
Well played, Magnus Reinhardt.
Now my heart is pumping hard, and I can’t deny other parts of my anatomy are fairly active as well.
The idea that my sex appeal might have anything to do with the reason I was sent here is…absurd. And strangely arousing.
Femme Fatale.
I’m the last person on earth suited for such a role, which is why the idea gives me such a kick. I’m here in a city that I’d never have thought of visiting if left to my own volition. The museums of Paris. The ruins of Athens. The architecture of Rome. That’s more my speed—if I had ever given myself the time off to indulge. The only reason I even had a passport was that Douglas & Foster demanded it should I ever have to fly to the foreign offices of one of the banks we represent—something that has yet to even happen.
But here in what might as well be the Sin City of Europe? Why not give in to certain vices?
“The bedroom is yours for what’s left of the night. I’ll have them bring down your suitcase, so you have something more…” Magnus’s eyes linger over the sheets surrounding me. “Suitable to wear in the morning. Goodnight, Sloane.”
His smile is no less dangerous as he puts on his shirt, then collects his jacket and tie. He passes by me to head toward the door.
I rise up, feeling a wicked smile touch my lips. Before Magnus reaches the exit, I stop him. Might as well leave him with something to keep him coming back.
“One moment. I think you forgot something of yours.”
Magnus turns to face me.
That’s when I release the sheets surrounding me, leaving me in nothing but my heels and the earrings dangling from my lobes.
Even he isn’t immune to the primal reaction I was hoping for. I devour it, thrilled that I’ve once again managed to throw him off. Something about it sates my womanly pride.
There’s also something to be said for admiring eyes. And the state I’m in? The old Sloane would be appalled. But really, she was nothing more than a guppy. Guppies don’t make an impression.
But sharks do.
I reach up to remove one of the earrings and then the other. “I believe these belong to you?”
The slow smile that creeps to his face is more satisfying than even the most decadent dessert. He moves like a shark, slow and predatory. I can almost hear the theme music to Jaws in my head, and it has the potentially ruinous effect of making me laugh.
When he’s only inches away from me, I allow the moment to linger, all the better to build up an immunity to the man, even though my body reacts violently. That intoxicatingly masculine scent, with the lingering smell of sex. The way his body completely fills my vision, the thought of what those hands—never mind the rest of him—could do to me all over again. I absorb it all, letting it infiltrate my system.
The Monte Carlo Shark: An International Legacies Romance Page 17
