The warehouse stank of damp and rust, but Adrian didn’t move, his knuckles still white around Jacques’s collar. Blaise had stepped back, pistol raised, watching for even the flicker of deception.
Jacques’ smirk had long since drained away. Sweat gleamed on his brow, but he still had the nerve to chuckle through broken gasps.
“You think Marseille cares about this city?” Jacques rasped. “Paris is nothing but a playground. Rome, that’s where he’ll take you back. That’s where debts are paid in blood.”
Adrian’s eyes narrowed. His grip tightened until Jacques winced. “Rome?”
Jacques swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing against Adrian’s hand. “He doesn’t want you dead… not yet. He wants to strip you in front of the men who once called you brother. To show them you’ve lost everything, your empi
