Crown of Solana

by Susan Sheehey

  The door closed behind him—by Stefano, most likely. Rounding the bed, he took the chair beside her and carefully slipped his fingers underneath her non-bandaged hand. She didn’t move. He leaned down and kissed her knuckles, one by one, willing the pain to leave her body and enter his, to bear the suffering on her behalf. A tear escaped and rolled down his cheek, landing on her wrist. Then another escaped. Then another. He wiped it away, only to have more follow their path. He lowered his forehead to the bed to hide his sobbing. Everything shuddered, deep in his core. His shoulders convulsed with every wracking cry. But at least they were silent.

  First my mother. Then my father, brother, nephew, and Reyna. Please, not Gemma too.

  Finally, his body stopped and focused on breathing. The door opened and he wiped his face. Stefano stepped in and closed the door behind him. His expression was tortured.

  “How long has she been sleeping?” André muttered, more of an attempt to make sure Stefano didn’t bring up his show of weakness.

  “About an hour.”

  “Her hand is cold. She needs another heated blanket.” He rose and grabbed a tissue from the counter.

  “Your Highness…” Stefano swallowed through hesitating. “As medical power of attorney, the doctor just informed me Gemma’s test results came back.”

  “And?”

  Before he answered, he gave Gemma a long, hard look, then gripped the railing at the end of the bed. “Gemma was pregnant.”

  The room stopped. Everything turned silent. Stefano’s expression dropped.

  “How…when…wait, what?” Blood rushed through his ears.

  “Blood test confirms. She was no more than a few weeks, probably didn’t even know herself.”

  André fisted the tissue in his hand and slowly sank into the chair. “Was?”

  Stefano cleared his throat several times. “With her internal injuries, and the removal of her ovary…” His voice cracked. “I’m so sorry.”

  Everything around him drowned out in the roar between his ears. Instinct drew his gaze to her abdomen, well covered by blankets, and probably more bandages under that. He grabbed her hand, more to ground himself than anything. He wanted to place his palm over her womb…her wound. Feel where the child—his child—would’ve grown. The concept still didn’t coalesce, whirling in his mind. She was pregnant?

  His jaw dropped. The boat. Their one tryst with no protection. Just before they’d touched foot on Solana and infiltrated the palace. And saved his country from Lozano’s mercenary army.

  Only to return home to have Vasco beat her near to death. In the process, he’d murdered Gemma’s child. My child.

  “We can dress you up, André, but we can’t take you out, can we?” Gemma’s strained yet sweet voice called to him. Her stunning blue irises were hidden behind bloodshot eyes and popped blood vessels. He felt like crying all over again, but he swallowed the lump in his throat and steeled his shoulders.

  “Mi amor, what do you mean?”

  “Your shirt. Did you get any of it in your mouth?”

  André half laughed, half sobbed. “Not a drop, actually.” He gripped her hand, and she squeezed it back. “How is your pain? Do you need more meds?”

  She shook her head slightly. “When did you get here?”

  “Just a few minutes ago. As soon as I got the call that you…I flew straight here.”

  “What about your meetings? All those dignitaries, the negotiations…”

  “You need me more right now.” He gently kissed her knuckles, cradling her hand in his palms. “Besides, you’re more beautiful than all those greedy politicians.”

  Gemma smirked. “You clearly need more sleep and a pair of glasses.”

  He smiled. You are still the most glorious woman I’ve ever seen.

  “Did the doctor come back?” she continued. “What did he say?”

  André opened his mouth to answer, but stopped and looked at Stefano. The senior man eyed him back. “Nothing new for now,” he finally replied and tried to smile. “Don’t worry about anything. You just focus on resting. We’ll get you out of here as soon as we can.”

  Gemma paused and held his gaze, making him squirm in his chair. “Don’t worry about anything?” she eventually replied. “Last I checked, the Devil assassin was out there with a huge target on your back. No doubt waiting to strike, now that you’re in town. You shouldn’t have come here, André. Only makes it easier for him to take you out.”

  Stefano shifted behind him. His grimace conveyed his agreement, and he clearly felt guilty for making the call. But Gemma’s mental clarity, despite all of the pain and the meds, was exceptional. And infuriating.

  “I pray the pinche carbón shows his face, mi amor.” I’ll use my bare hands to rip his throat out. He smoothed her hair back, its shiny luster faltering. “But rest easy for now, Gemma. Please.”

  OF ALL THE WINDOWS IN the expansive palace, only one gave Alanna an unobstructed view of the sea. Her mother’s study. The bay beyond the marina was full of yachts and sailing rigs. But the docks were even more packed, all preparing for the charity dinner in an hour, aboard the Royal Yacht—Esperanza.

  The waters were calm, yet not as clear as a normal summer evening. The blue was murkier after this afternoon’s rains. Nevertheless, Alanna yearned to be on the ocean. The sea wind on her face and the splash in her hair.

  Peace.

  Freedom. If only for an evening.

  The silvery-blue cushion on the window seat was soft under touch. She’d often come here over the years during times the memory of her mother overwhelmed her. Times when she needed a calming atmosphere, and there was no room in her schedule for sailing, which was often.

  The madness of this world will consume me.

  “Gemma was right all along.” Her voice sounded small in the room her mother had designed. Her cell phone sat on the bench in front of her. After another horrible call, she needed the comfort of this room.

  Alanna buried her face in her hands. “The threat was against me. The royal family. Why her?”

  “Because André loves her. Simple as that.”

  She turned at Flynn’s voice, soft and solemn. The black tux fit marvelously on him, yet his untamed hair reminded her of the sea-blown look she adored, one of her favorite features on him.

  “I didn’t hear you come in.”

  “I knocked.”

  The glimmer in his jade eyes was gone. They were full of heartache.

  She stood and took a deep breath.

  The second his strong arms wrapped around her, the knot in her throat loosened. She clung to his shoulders, trying desperately to find meaning through all the anguish. The top of her curly up-do brushed under his chin, but she didn’t care if it unfurled. She needed his touch.

  “How is she?” he asked.

  “Bad.”

  His squeeze tightened. “And your brother?”

  “He’s a complete wreck. I can hear it in his voice.”

  His whole body sighed in her arms. “It’s a cunning strategy. Draw your brother out by attacking the ones closest to him.”

  Her gut flipped over at the thought, and she pulled away from him “As if I’m not worried enough about him. Even with all his security.”

  “The good news is, at least we know the assassin isn’t on Solana.”

  She scowled. “That doesn’t make this threat any less dangerous.”

  “My point is at least you’re safe.”

  The more he spoke, the more Alanna stared at him in disbelief. “You don’t get it, do you? Gemma nearly died. Our family is constantly a target, and by default, our loved ones as well.”

  Flynn swallowed hard, the grimace on his face almost tortured.

  “That means you’re in danger too.” Her voice cracked. The thought of more people dying…of Flynn…because of her.

  “It could’ve just as easily been you.”

  She shook her head.

  In the distance, limos arrived at the docks, though it was har
d to see who emerged. The first guests arrived, and the photographers were in a frenzy.

  Alanna still wore her roseate lounge suit. Something comfortable to wear while her hair and makeup were completed. Then the call from André about Gemma’s injuries sucked all the liveliness out of her. Donning her gown now felt wrong.

  “I can’t bear the thought of you being hurt…” Flynn began, his voice tight. “The way Gemma was.” His words slowed, like he fought to get them out. “My mind won’t function. So, I focus on strategy. Logistics. On putting together the moveable parts. That’s how my mind works. How I cope. At times, it makes me sound crass and unsympathetic. But I’m not, I—”

  She cupped his cheek. “Shh. I know.” A light touch of her lips to his calmed her frazzled mind. And his words. The fear running through him was the same as hers. As everyone’s.

  A knock interrupted their intimate moment. “Your Highness?” Cataline’s muffled voice called through the door. “It’s time.”

  “Pase,” she answered.

  The doors opened, and Cataline came through in a simple knee-length black dress. Her long hair was curled around the nape of her neck. “My apologies for the interruption, Your Highness. The transport is here. We need to get you in your gown.”

  Alanna nodded, though her heart wasn’t in it. She glanced back out the window. The crowd at the marina had thickened, and the camera flashes were now constant.

  “You don’t have to do this.” Flynn caressed her arm. “We can cancel. Arrange another night.”

  Cataline’s expression turned sympathetic. The whole idea for a charity dinner was Alanna’s, but it was her devoted servant’s suggestion to have it aboard the Esperanza to make the evening more personal, but just as meaningful.

  “No. We have to continue. If for nothing else than it’s what they need.”

  Flynn slipped his fingers in hers. “Are you sure?”

  She squeezed back. “The evening moves forward as planned.”

  Raul crouched in the dark bushes of the hillside behind the marina, watching the guards and few U.N. forces at the entrance. Beyond the gates to the partially destructed docks sat the majestic Esperanza, named after the late queen, running lights gleaming under the glittering stars a few minutes after sunset. A perfect night for a dinner cruise on the royal family’s private yacht, despite the construction equipment around it from the first attack.

  An attack that succeeded, until Bendetto turned into an idiot and coward. More proof that Father should have trusted me to lead, instead of that greedy bastard.

  Staff and crew carried provisions aboard. That was his way in. Thanks to his latest source—now deceased—he learned the royal family was throwing a major dinner party on board for the victims’ families. He’d managed to swipe the crewmember’s uniform from her closet, next to the bathroom where he left her in the tub with a plastic bag taped around her head.

  He couldn’t resist this target. Not after he’d found out both remaining Peraltas would be in attendance. My ticket to the top.

  When the fish truck drove by, he crouched lower in the bushes. His shoes sank into the mud, thanks to the recent rainfall at four thirty, almost clockwork on this island, yet only lasting twenty minutes. That was the difference between him and his brother. Ricardo was unwilling to get dirty in the thick of things. Raul didn’t mind it. Getting dirty on a quest to the top was required. Which was why Ricardo was the screw up, and Raul was the glory boy. He was not only more likely to ascend their father’s clandestine empire, but in position to steal it out from under the aging man’s weak heart.

  He loved this part of his profession—the best attribute, actually. Experimenting with explosives. The one in his hands, when combined with the yacht’s fuel supply, would be an epic beauty of fire and chaos. Not only would he screw with the minds of the people and destroy the royal family, but he would also be the catalyst for his takeover of the Lozano empire.

  Three birds, one explosive.

  Raul drooled.

  The truck stopped by the entrance and the guards checked the contents. A quick once over. Clearly, they knew the driver. Good. Makes my job easier. When the right moment of distraction came, Raul stepped out from the bushes and slipped into the back of the truck. He grabbed a box, acted like he belonged there, and carried it down the docks. At the yacht gangplank, a guard with an Uzi stopped him and checked the box.

  Perfect. Just smelly fish. Then the guard waved a metal detecting wand over him. Raul hid a smile. The pride and joy in his pocket was all plastic.

  The guard waved him through.

  Sucker.

  Even better, with all the hustle on board the luxury mega-yacht, slipping past crewmembers too busy to stop him was ridiculously easy. The engine room was simple to find too. Head to the lowest level and follow the noise. In sixty minutes, this gleaming example of opulence and Solanian pride would be in a billion shards at the bottom of the bay.

  By the time he’d planted the beauty, made his way out, and strolled down the docks, his confidence was higher than a junkie in a Thai whorehouse.

  Everything was too easy. The kind of thing that would’ve triggered his father’s doubt, but not Raul’s. Increased security from U.N. forces was not just a joke, but a whole damn comedy club.

  When he rounded the street corner, he ducked down a back alley, stripped off the uniform, and tossed it in a trashcan. Then he made his way to the perch he’d picked out earlier: a second story patio of a packed bar, with a perfect view of the harbor.

  As he nursed his third beer and a plate of taro and yams, limos streamed into the marina. Photographers lined the entrance, waiting to snap pictures of the royals and their guests. Raul’s sweet tooth was on overdrive. He couldn’t wait to see that exquisite fireball, and then the next day’s headlines.

  Suddenly, the photographers swarmed one of the limos, and flashes covered the area. The doors opened, but too many guards concealed who stepped out. It could’ve been the princess, but he wasn’t sure. Short people were so annoying. But he didn’t see Prince André either.

  The grouping moved forward and eventually made their way on board. The limos drove off, and in the distance, a modest group of people congregated on the yacht’s stern, getting ready for a five-star, seven-course meal.

  He pulled out his phone and snapped a picture. He couldn’t help himself. Then it vibrated in his hand. The timer.

  A bright light from the yacht’s lower deck made everyone turn, followed by a deep boom. Then the boat’s bowels surged out and split open like a fiery zit from hell. The explosive roar drowned out the screams. A beautiful red and yellow glow rose into the air, and Raul smiled. He snapped another picture.

  “I WANT HER TRANSFERRED OUT of this hospital as soon as possible.”

  Everyone stared at André.

  “Sir, she’s far too fragile right now,” one of the doctors replied. “That won’t be possible for at least a week. Maybe longer.”

  “We need to make it happen. She’s not safe here.”

  “Our security is more than sufficient for—”

  “For a world class assassin?” He cut him off. “A man who has slipped past a dozen intelligence agencies? I doubt it. The second Vasco finds out she’s still alive, he’ll be back here to finish her off.”

  “Sir, if I may,” the hospital director cut in.

  He held up his hand. “Including anyone who gets in his way.”

  “That’s not your call.” Shane glowered at him from down the hall, holding a large coffee.

  André sighed, sympathy and annoyance furling in his heart. The last thing he needed right now—that Gemma needed—was a jealous spat with the rejected best friend. But up until last week, Shane was the best friend. He’d known her longer, and had every right to be here.

  The half dozen bodyguards moved between them, holding Shane back as he approached, his bullish gaze targeting André. Most likely the coffee’s next target too.

  “This is all your fault!”

/>   The men held him back. One tried to grab his massive arm and pull it behind his back, but Shane was strong. And single-minded.

  “Let him go,” the prince called. The bodyguards released him, and Shane approached, but much slower.

  “This is her home,” he growled. “She chose to come back here. Don’t take her away from where she wants to be.”

  “She’ll be safer with me.”

  “All evidence is to the contrary.”

  He ground his teeth. “I understand how you feel, Shane. But this is not the—”

  “Bullshit. You don’t know what anyone else is feeling. Especially her. All you care about is yourself. You found a new bone to chew on and won’t let anyone else near her.”

  “Don’t call her that.”

  “Her life has been destroyed ever since she met you, and you think you’re the only place she’ll be safe? You’re the reason she’s here in the damn hospital!” Shane splashed his coffee in André’s face. The warm, sugary liquid soaked into his collar and down his shirt. The security detail was all over Shane a second later and forced him down the hall, eventually in handcuffs.

  I’m sick of coffee.

  Stefano handed him a towel from the nurse’s cart and led him into Gemma’s room. She was still sleeping. Thank goodness, she hadn’t heard the commotion.

  “That was foolish,” Stefano started.

  He swiped at his shirt. “I don’t blame him for that. From his point of view, I can see how he’d make that conclusion.”

  “He’s right.”

  Stefano’s simple words struck his heart dead center. “What?”

  “It’s not your call.”

  He faced him, hardly believing his ears. “She can’t possibly stay here. Not after this. He’ll be back to finish her off.”

  “Exactly.”

  André fisted his hands at his sides.

  “This was his plan all along.” The silence after his former bodyguard’s words kicked his heart rate up a notch.

  I don’t like where this is headed. “What do you mean?”

  “Why did he let her live?”

  His jaw dropped. Let her?