The Price of Winning: London Calling Book Four (25 page)

Ultimately, though, there must be an internal truce. An acceptance.

She couldn’t watch him spiral out of control. But she’d be damned if she left him completely alone to fight his demons. Not when he’d stood beside her, stoic and strong during her darkest hours.

Plus, she loved him. It was really that simple. You didn’t quit on someone you loved.

Her parents taught her that.

Madeleine walked to the closet and selected a pair of slim-fitting black ankle pants in a stretchy fabric. She topped them with a sixties-style sleeveless geometric blouse with a rolled collar. Finally, she slipped on casual loafers.
 

She opened the drapes, blinking. The sky was mostly overcast, with some watery sunlight winking through the occasional gaps in the clouds.
 

She looked at her watch then realized she hadn’t reset it. In no mood to do the conversion, she grabbed her phone out of her purse to check the time.

Dear God. She’d practically slept round the clock.
 

No wonder it took her a while to wake up earlier. She’d been in a coma.
 

She laughed, the sound easy and relaxed. Now she was bursting with energy. She’d go downstairs and have an enormous coffee with a full breakfast.

She’d plan her return to London and figure out a new place to live. She wanted to be with Sebastian because they chose each other. Not because events had thrown them into proximity. And not because she was in need and he had an overdeveloped sense of protection.

And in the meantime, she would enjoy her last day in Chicago, a city she still loved.
 

She opened the door of her hotel room, ready to conquer the world.
 

The Chicago Tribune lay outside her door. On the front, her face stared back up at her, captured in an intense moment of grief.

And next to it, wrapped in green cellophane, was a very large bouquet of flowers.

Lilies.

Masses of them, in shades of russet red and burnt orange.
 

Her heart slowed to a sluggish thumping, and she nearly stepped back inside her room and slammed the door in denial. Instead, she forced air into her lungs and willed her teeth to stop chattering. She would not hide, no matter how badly she wanted to.

She dragged her palms down her pants, wiping away the sweat.
 

There was a card with her name spelled out in blocked letters on the envelope. She slid her nail under the seal, opening it.
 

One sentence, in handwriting familiar as her own.

I am coming for you.

***

Sebastian looked at his cards without giving a damn what he had. The tournament marched forward, the games stretching endlessly even though they’d only been playing a couple of hours so far.

Later, dinner would be served. He and his guests could sit on the terrace and pretend to be polite to one another while Sebastian continuously tallied the head count, making sure everyone was where they were supposed to be.

In truth, he couldn’t wait to see the back of every single one of them, even the ones innocent of any crimes. One of the models, a statuesque brunette with sharp blue eyes, was particularly on his nerves.

He didn’t want statuesque. He preferred petite and supple.

He didn’t want blue eyes. He preferred green, with corners that tilted up, like a sexy feline.

And he sure as hell didn’t want obsequious fawning.
 

He smiled, thinking of Madeleine.

There weren’t enough words, so he didn’t try.

It was enough to just say he preferred her.

Another hour ticked by. A member of the wait staff came into the room to stand near the terrace doors. By instruction, he kept his head lowered and hands tucked behind his back.

Sebastian rose, pasting a false smile onto his face. He motioned to the dealer, who closed the current hand.
 

“Ladies and gentleman,” he pitched his voice to get everyone’s attention. “Dinner is served.”

Madeleine would have laughed. He sounded like a droning character from late night British television.
 

His guests were smoothly escorted to their designated seating at the long table situated on the terrace.
 

The table was dressed in white, from the candles to the bunches of flowers dotting its length. Delicate bone china had a single, slim band of platinum decorating its rim. Irish crystal sparkled, scattering the light from the candles across the snowy linens.

With grim humor, Sebastian considered how ironic the pristine setting was measured against the collective blackness of everyone’s souls.

Not for the first time that evening, he questioned where the arrest would occur. Stupidly, he hadn’t asked whether the police would invade his club or wait for the Russians at the Ritz.

At this point he supposed it hardly mattered. He’d endangered the reputation of his casino when he planned this event. He could hardly complain about the consequences.
 

During the second course, a uniformed attendant approached him at his position at the head of the table. He passed Sebastian a card decorated with gold foil and embossed with Club Hobart’s discreet logo.

Sebastian glanced up. Dimitri Petrov’s cold, black eyes bored into his. Sebastian ignored him and flipped open the card.

He swallowed a curse.
 

One of the club’s members had struck another at the blackjack table downstairs. It was exceedingly rare for violence to erupt in his casino. But when it occurred, the matter was dealt with swiftly and decisively.

In Natalie’s absence, that fell to him.

He looked up. Petrov was smiling, if one could consider the chilly contortion of his face anything close to that. Sebastian moved his chair back, effectively garnering everyone’s attention.

“I’m afraid I have to see to something downstairs. Please continue to enjoy your dinner.” He indicated the wait staff, who stood like sentries near the terrace’s French doors. “Of course, my team will see to any of your needs. I will return as quickly as possible.”

He strode away, quickly moving through the adjoining rooms to reach the corridor to the staircase. He slipped down the stairs to find his floor manager waiting at the foot.
 

“Sir, I’m very sorry to interrupt.”
 

Sebastian waved off his apology. His employee was following strict club protocol. “Take me to them.”

For the next hour he dealt with the irritation of a regular member who routinely drank too much during his visits. He and Natalie had considered rescinding his membership. With this latest stunt, his dismissal was certain and immediate.
 

A security officer escorted him from the premises. Sebastian compensated the man who’d been assaulted with a free year of membership.

All in all, considering the bruise darkening his jaw and the swelling of his lip, the other man seemed fairly pleased.

Sebastian left him in the capable hands of his floor manager. For tonight, he would be supplied with a generous addition to his chips.
 

Sebastian climbed the stairs back to the penthouse rooms, taking two at a time. For the hundredth time, he wished he’d closed the club during the tournament.
 

His guests were still on the terrace, enjoying after-dinner cocktails and coffees. Sebastian eased himself back into his position at the table.

Three seats away to his left, an empty chair stared back at him. Sebastian clenched his fists as adrenaline pumped through his system.

Petrov was gone.

***

He clapped his hands, grinding conversations to a halt.
 

“Where is Petrov?” His voice boomed, demanding an answer. Heads flew up, wine glasses lowered.
 

Silence was the only response.

He rose, pointing. “The tournament is dismissed.” A gasp went up. “My staff will see you returned to your hotel.”
 

He pivoted on his heel and marched out.
 

By the time he reached the staircase, his feet were flying, taking the steps at a breakneck pace.

Without missing a beat, he pulled out his phone, tapping out Dominic’s number.

The other man answered on one ring.
 

“Petrov’s missing.”

“What?” Dominic hissed the question. “Are you
sure
?”

“Yes I’m
sure
. I was called away, and by the time I got back, he was gone. Nobody’s talking.”

There was a rustling sound. Sebastian thought he heard Dominic whispering to someone, likely Frank. Then he was back. “Where are you now?” he barked.

“Still at the club.”

“Get to Payne Manor.
Now
.”

Their words were like bullets, firing back and forth in staccato bursts.

“Why? What’s happening at the Manor?” What did his estate have to do with Dimitri Petrov?

Dominic cursed. “Keep up, Payne. Where did Petrov leave his little gifts for you? The Manor.” Another rustle, then more muttering. “Angeline is there,
alone
.”
 

 
Sebastian was running now and pulling his keys out of his pocket. “What about your guys? Don’t you have two people on the street?”

“No,” Dominic exhaled loudly. “I told you, I pulled them to cover the club. It’s complicated but I couldn’t have my father and his best friend in the same place as Angeline. But I’m calling them now.”

“Where are you?” Sebastian would spend time figuring out Dominic’s statement later. For now, he pushed a button on his fob, unlocking the driver door to his SUV.

 
“Frank and I are still at the hotel, but we’re on our way. I got into Petrov’s laptop. His room is untouched, everything looks like it’s here. Wait.” There was a sound, like he tossed his phone to the side. More rumbling. Then Dominic was back, out of breath. “The police are here, setting themselves into position. Looks like your Russian friends’ll be having a little surprise party when they get back to the Ritz.”

Sebastian depressed the start key to his Range Rover, bringing the engine roaring to life. “I’m in the car, so I’m signing off.” Almost as an afterthought, he said, “Hurry.” He tapped the screen of his phone to end the call and tossed it aside.
 

He pulled out, ignoring the screeching brakes of the drivers behind him. He pushed the accelerator, tearing through the streets to get to his Kensington estate.
 

Minutes ticked by.
 

Sebastian ran one red light, then another. Horns blared and he received more than one middle finger.

Finally, he was home. He brought the Rover screaming to a halt outside the main entrance.
 

The wooden gates were blasted inward.
 

He burst out of his car, leaving the door open and his engine running. Sebastian ran through the opening then stopped. Some kind of detonation had torn the front door from its hinges, leaving wood and glass strewn across the limestone steps.
 

His breathing slowed. He tightened his fists then opened them, an old exercise he used to release tension before a fight. Easing through the doorway, he rotated his neck, looking for any signs of Petrov or Angeline.

He moved through the house, silent as a panther.
 

He neared the parlor, listening for signs of his enemy.
 

A crash in the library had him whirling around. Angeline screamed, the sound abruptly cut off. Sebastian surged into the room to see Petrov strangling her, his face crazed and insane.
 

Before Sebastian could take more than two steps, Angeline stabbed an antique letter opener into Petrov’s neck.

He howled in agony, pulling the blade free. He tensed to lunge at Angeline who lay gasping, still sprawled across the desk.

Sebastian took advantage of the other man’s distraction.

He coiled his muscles then sprung on the Russian like a wild animal.
 

He crushed Petrov to the floor in a flying tackle. Sebastian grabbed a hank of the other man’s hair while punching and kicking him in a wild frenzy of bloodlust.

They rolled across the floor in a flurry of violence, both willing to use their teeth and fingernails. Mostly, Sebastian held the advantage. He was brawnier, more ravenous.
 

But Petrov was no meek opponent. He refused to submit.

Sebastian heard the distant wail of sirens.

He threw Petrov down, pinning him flat on his back. Straddling the other man’s chest, he balanced on the balls of his feet. With a grim smile, he pressed his thumbs into each of the Russian’s eye sockets.
 

Petrov made an awful sound, something animalistic and wounded. Sebastian heard Angeline gasp. She tried to stand, but her ankle crumpled beneath her, dropping her to the floor.
 

“
Stop
.” The protest shot from her.

Sebastian whipped up his head.
 

His eyelids were swollen and bleeding, blurring his vision. But he could still clearly see the horror on Angeline’s face.

He tried to claw back some control, but his emotions were running wild.

He felt savage.

Murderous.

“
Stop it
,” she cried.

Sebastian flinched. He couldn’t fail another woman who was important to him. He withdrew his hands from Petrov’s face.

But his enemy had no such moral qualms. He pitched forward, simultaneously grabbing for the letter opener and throwing Sebastian back on his heels.
 

Petrov slid the blade neatly between Sebastian’s ribs, sinking it to its hilt.
 

In agony, Sebastian slumped forward, blood gushing and frothing from his wound.

***

Angeline moaned, her voice climbing in volume and pitch until she was screaming. Petrov twisted out from beneath Sebastian’s limp frame. He sprung to his feet then hesitated for one second.

The place where she’d stabbed him between his neck and collarbone still bled profusely. She had no earthly idea how he was even standing.