The hum of the Gulfstream’s engines was a low, predatory growl that vibrated through the soles of my boots. Outside the thick acrylic window, the world was a void of midnight blue, save for the scattered diamonds of the stars that seemed close enough to touch. We were crossing the equator, flying toward the high-altitude chill of Quito, returning to the place where my story—and my father’s lies—had first taken root.
Roman sat across from me in the plush leather seat, a glass of amber scotch resting on the mahogany folding table between us. He hadn't changed out of his black cashmere sweater, and in the dim cabin lights, he looked less like a mafia enforcer and more like a dark shadow carved from the night sky itself. He was watching me, his gaze heavy and unblinking, tracking the way my f
