THREE MINUTES AFTER STEFANO, ANDRÉ, and Felipe left, Gemma and Carlos moved. Out of the kitchen and across the hall to the linen closet was easy enough, with two more dead bodies along the way, each one with a bullet in the center of their foreheads. Thanks to Stefano. Great shots, Gemma had to admit.

Her stomach didn’t roil anymore at the sight of them. They were all a part of Reyna’s death and the destruction of her life. They deserved it.

If only Vasco would show his face. She’d give him a hole just like it.

Gemma reached the linen closet first. The door at the back was hidden well, but she spotted the crease. Without hesitating, she opened it and aimed her gun.

Empty. Stairs with metal railings climbed three floors. Gemma swore under her breath. Her boots on the metal steps would be loud. She’d have to stay on the balls of her feet to prevent an echo.

She crept up the stairs with her weapon ready, Carlos close behind guarding her back. By the time they reached the top, her thighs started to burn. Carlos didn’t even have a hitch in his breath. She gripped the door and opened an inch, careful not to make any noise. The hallway had ornate champagne marble with Persian rugs, archways and carved ceilings in the same material, gaudier than Vatican chapels. But everything was covered with a layer of debris and all of the artwork along the honey colored walls was gone.

“No one’s there,” she whispered behind her.

“There will be,” he whispered back. “Queen’s room, blue door across the hall.”

That’s not what Stefano said on the boat. Pushing the door open more, Gemma snuck through and spun to check the other way. Two men, all in black, faced the window overlooking the destruction outside. But their hands were on the triggers. Twenty yards—easy targets.

Just like shooting skunks on the ranch. She aimed for their heads and fired. One after the other, they both dropped. The shots echoed off the empty walls. She turned and more men came running from the other end, but Carlos picked them off with a shot through the eye or throat.

She dashed across the hall and crouched behind a limestone statue of a singing angel. Carlos followed as she covered for him, and he pushed through the door. Three more of Bendetto’s men raced around the corner. Gemma put a bullet in each of their necks.

A clicking noise caught her attention. Quintana’s eyes peered through the secret entrance and she held up her hand.

“Clear,” Carlos whispered behind her.

Gemma waved at Quintana, who came through and covered the other end of the hallway, while Rico moved into the queen’s drawing room. Gemma followed.

Blood pounded in her ears as she followed Carlos and Rico through several doors. First through the opulence of the queen’s light and airy drawing room, then a small office, followed by a powder room. They stopped in a sitting room covered in a lavish tribute to cherry blossom cherubs and lilies. How many rooms does this damn place have?

A gilded painting on the center wall stole her breath. A portrait of a woman in a gown of forget-me-not blue with coral sash, wearing an exquisite crown of diamonds, pearls, and blue stones. Complete with André’s captivating smile.

His mother. The queen. Stunning, regal, and young. Something pricked at Gemma’s heart, forcing her to steady herself on a chair.

Voices from the next room pulled her back. Rico and Carlos dashed behind chairs or tables, while she ducked behind the sofa. Quintana came through the door behind her, saw her hiding, and moved back.

“He was spotted on the grounds. The attacks are a diversion,” the voice rambled in Spanish.

“How do you know?” Another voice asked, higher and panicked.

“If his head Guardsman is here, so is Prince André,” he barked back. “Keep this room locked down until we find them.”

“Prince André wouldn’t be stupid enough to come back to Solana while Bendetto is here. It’s more rebels trying to make us squirm.”

A shot rang out on the other side of the door, followed by a muffled crumple. Then silence.

Gemma’s throat went dry. She peered around the edge of the sofa, at Carlos’ focused stare from behind a loveseat. He shook his head.

“Anyone else want to disagree with me?” The first voice barked. “Then secure this wing. You, clear this bastard’s body out.”

More doors opened and closed, and then a stifled dragging. Carlos moved from behind the loveseat and listened through the door.

They know André’s here. Gemma fought to control her breathing and focused on the gun in her hand. The metal was warm, soothing. This was her control. This was her power.

The sounds in the other room faded. Rico joined Carlos through the door. Gemma moved from behind the couch and glanced one last time at André’s mother’s portrait.

The epitome of grace and prestige. She could see where André inherited his regal stature. What she’d originally interpreted as a stick up his backside was instead generations of pride and duty ingrained in his blood.

How can I ever live up to someone like her?

Dozens of shots rang out in the hallway. Before she could move, something knocked her in the back of the head. As she dropped, the last thing she remembered was a searing pain between her ears and the lush blue rug rushing to meet her face.

 

 

 

Stefano and Felipe covered André like sharks on a bleeding seal. From the few glances he took over his bodyguard’s back, he raged at the damage to his family’s home. The priceless artwork ripped from the walls, the furniture destroyed or stolen, even the gold filigree in the sculpted chair rails through the hallway was pried out. No doubt in the pockets of these henchmen. It wasn’t their lost value he lamented, but the total lack of respect for such grandeur and hard work put into building this home. The memory of his family.

Stefano led them down an anterior hallway, toward the surveillance room. They turned another corner down a darker hall. André remembered this area. The security room with extra ammunition was the last door on the left. Some of the staff quarters were on the right, but no doubt emptied when Bendetto took over.

He and Tulio used to sneak down the stairs at night as boys and go into the first room, the arcade and game area, and play until they were caught at one or two in the morning. But when André had started his rebellious phase after his mother’s death, his father repurposed the room for Alanna’s tutoring and dance lessons. When the queen died, the king kept a much tighter leash on his only daughter. A fact André both resented and mourned.

A door at the end creaked open, and Stefano and Felipe squished him between their bodies, aiming their guns straight at it. A single eye peeked through the darkened interior. A feminine one.

“Stefano?” it called.

“Cataline!” he whispered. The door swung open and they slipped inside. The lights turned on as the door closed.

Cataline hugged Stefano with a death grip on his shoulders. She was maybe five-one, five-two, this tiny woman with skinny arms holding onto a six-foot Stefano with surprising strength. Her long black ponytail draped over her shoulder, mussed from sleep.

“Thank God it’s you,” she breathed, her eyes squeezed shut. “I thought I was dreaming.” Her dark eyes opened and saw André. She pushed back from Stefano and straightened her cotton shirt. “Lo siento, Su Majestad. I didn’t recognize you.” She curtsied in her work pants and clasped her hands awkwardly in front of her.

André nodded. He’d forgotten about having shaved his goatee. “Please call me Your Highness, Señora. I am not the king.”

The woman blinked.

“Sire, this is Cataline Hernandez, my woman-inside.” Stefano had a glow in his eyes André had never seen before. Directed at this youthful woman, though with closer scrutiny, she may have been in her mid-forties from the crow’s feet and wrinkles around her mouth. “A maid in the palace for the last four years.”

“A maid? Bendetto kept the staff on hand?”

“Some of us,” she answered. “Though only two are left. He’s killed the rest.”

“Señora, I’m so sorry you’ve had to continue under these horrible circumstances,” André said. “You’re incredibly brave, and I thank you.”

She blushed and nodded, though didn’t look him in the eye. Remnants of a bruise lingered by her temple.

“Querida, are you all right?” Stefano brushed back her hair and surveyed the damage. “Who did this?”

“It doesn’t matter. This is less than what many others have received.”

“Did they…” Stefano’s voice broke. It was the first time André had seen him this scared.

Cataline shook her head and held his hand. “No. But I haven’t heard from Javier in three days. Is he…?”

“I don’t know,” he replied quietly. “There was a significant change in plans. Assassins attacked us in the States, so we had to move quickly. How many men are in the surveillance room?”

“No more than three, and they’re not very vigilant. I hear them laughing or snoring often. But Bendetto always has his room guarded by four men every night, and he doesn’t always sleep.”

“If you could’ve escaped, why did you stay?” André asked in disbelief.

Cataline blanched. “How else would Stefano receive the intel he needed?”

“Was it just you spying?”

“All of the staff was. Reporting back number of guards, schedules, anything we could see. But some were…caught.”

“Sir, we have to move,” Felipe interrupted. Without another word, Cataline slipped on her shoes and joined them out the door in silence.

They snuck to the surveillance door, and with Felipe covering his back, Stefano slowly edged it open and stepped in. Three muted pops filled the room, but André couldn’t tell what happened with Felipe hovering over him.

“Clear,” Stefano whispered and Felipe rushed them inside. The lock clicked behind him and André’s stomach flipped. One body lay sprawled on the floor, and two others slumped in the chairs in which they’d been working. Bendetto’s hired goons. Obviously not very attentive to the dozen screens if they missed the little group coming down the hall.

Stefano pushed buttons and maneuvered cameras remotely. But what caught André’s attention was the screen covering the queen’s drawing room. Gemma and Carlos had pushed open the door, with two dead bodies in the outer hallway. The woman had a ruthless edge on her face, and he almost didn’t recognize her. But those incredible blue eyes and blonde waves were identifiable anywhere.

Rico and Quintana met up with them and pushed through multiple rooms. A bunch of Bendetto’s men crouched in the stairwell and scrambled all over the palace. Serious guns were about to rain down on their four partners in vengeance.

“Stefano, we have to do something,” André nearly cried. “They’re outnumbered.”

“Stick to the plan, sir.” His voice was calm, but Stefano had a tense line in his forehead. “Carlos is my best man. He knows what he’s doing.” He pushed more buttons and the front gate to the Royal Square squealed open automatically. “Besides, we’re about to have a shit load of backup.”

Dozens of Solanian soldiers in gray and blue flooded the open gates, followed by dozens more, all shooting at remaining mercenaries. André was about to smile when a screen in the upper corner caught his attention.

Gemma was inside his mother’s sitting room staring at her portrait. André’s stomach dropped when four men entered behind her. She didn’t turn around. She didn’t fire or hide. She just stood there looking at the painting.

“No!” André screamed as a bastard took the butt of his gun and bashed her in the head.