The air in the Mediterranean had been warm and humid, but the air at thirty thousand feet, as they diverted the jet toward the Swiss Alps, felt like breathing needles. Riana sat as far away from Albert as the cabin allowed. The luxurious interior of the Vane private jet, which had once felt like a sanctuary, now felt like a gilded cage.
"Riana, please look at me," Albert said. He hadn't touched his tablets or phones for an hour. He looked smaller, somehow—less like a titan and more like a man watching his world burn.
"Did you know?" Riana’s voice was flat, devoid of the fire she had carried at the Gala. "When you stopped that car in the rain, did you know that my mother’s debt was tied to your father’s greed?"
"I knew there was a history," Albert admitted, his voice cracking. "My father
