After the heavy, oil-slicked meal with Fae, the adrenaline that had fueled Ace Kane’s confrontation with the third branch of the family finally began to dissipate. He felt the grime of travel and the residual heat of the afternoon’s violence clinging to his skin like a second layer of clothing. He retreated to his private quarters and took a long, steaming shower, letting the high-pressure water wash away the South Pacific humidity and the lingering scent of Xena’s perfume. Clad in a simple robe, he collapsed onto the bed and slipped into a restorative slumber that lasted until the tropical sun began to dip toward the horizon.
By evening, the silence of the villa was broken by a soft, rhythmic rapping at the door. It was the estate’s head butler, a man who moved with the ghostly discretio
