Page 94 of Reaper's Desire

"Explain," he says, his voice clipped and controlled. "Everything."

So I do. I tell him about the contract, about the assassins hunting me across Europe, about Julian protecting me. I tellhim about the financial records we uncovered, the massive withdrawals Vivienne made from family accounts, the desperate need for money that drove her to order my death. I tell him about how she planned to access my trust fund through my death and her marriage to him.

Julian stands to the side during my explanation, silent and watchful. He doesn't interrupt or add details or try to defend himself. He just lets me tell the story in my own words.

My father listens without speaking. His jaw tightens as I describe the weeks of running and hiding and barely staying alive. His hands clench into fists when I explain how close I came to death tonight—how the assassin broke in while we were confronting Vivienne, how she begged him to kill me even as Julian and I fought him off.

When I finish, the silence in the apartment is suffocating.

My father turns to look at Vivienne. She's stopped crying now, her face pale and drawn, her eyes red-rimmed and desperate. She opens her mouth like she's going to speak, but he holds up one hand, and she falls silent immediately.

"How much?" His voice is deadly quiet.

"Jacques, I can explain?—"

"How much did you steal from me? From my family? From my daughter?"

Vivienne's mouth works soundlessly for a moment. "Fifteen million. Maybe twenty. I don't—I don't know exactly."

The number hangs in the air like a death sentence. My father's expression doesn't change. He just nods slowly, his eyes still cold and hard. "And the contract on Isabelle's life?"

"It's two million, now." Vivienne's voice is barely audible.

"So you were willing to pay two million dollars to have our daughter murdered. To access her trust fund. To steal more money from the family you married into."

"I didn't have a choice!" The words burst out of Vivienne in a desperate rush. "I was drowning in debt! I had creditors threatening me, people I owed money to, and I couldn't tell you… and the trust fund was just sitting there?—"

"So you decided to kill her." The look on my father's face makes my blood run cold. "You have two choices. You can call off the contract right now. You can contact whoever you hired and tell them to cancel the hit on my daughter. And then you can face the legal consequences of your crimes."

Vivienne stares at him, her face white as paper.

"Or," my father continues, his tone never changing, "you can refuse. You can try to deny what you've done, try to fight this, try to save yourself. And I will let Julian handle you."

Vivienne's eyes dart to Julian, who's standing near the window with his arms crossed over his chest. There's blood on his shirt from the fight. His knuckles are split and bruised. He looks exactly like what he is—a killer who's just eliminated a threat and is perfectly willing to eliminate another.

"Jacques, you can't—you wouldn't?—"

"I would." My father's voice is calm and cold. "You tried to have my daughter murdered. You stole from my family. You betrayed every vow you made when we married. And you think I'm going to protect you? You think I'm going to save you from the consequences of your actions?"

He takes a step closer to her, and Vivienne shrinks back against the chair.

"I loved you," he says quietly. "Or I thought I did. I gave you everything—my name, my home, my trust. And you repaid me by trying to kill my child."

"I was desperate?—"

"You were greedy. You wanted more than you had. More than you earned. More than you deserved. And when you couldn't get it legally, you decided to take it by force."

He straightens, his expression settling back into that terrible calm.

"So make your choice, Vivienne. Call off the contract and face justice. Or refuse, and face Julian."

The silence that follows is absolute. I can hear my own heartbeat pounding in my ears. Vivienne is staring at my father like she's seeing him for the first time—like she's finally understanding that the man she married, the man she probably thought was weak or easily manipulated, is not going to save her.

Julian hasn't moved. He's just standing there, waiting to see what she'll choose.

Vivienne's face crumples. Her hands are shaking so badly that the zip ties rattle against the chair. She's crying again, but this time it's different—not the manipulative tears she used before, but genuine terror. "I'll call," she gasps. "I'll call them. I'll cancel it. Please, Jacques, please?—"

"Do it now."