Chapter 1062
Skye’s grip on the pen didn’t tighten. She watched Alistair’s back, the muscles shifting beneath his bespoke suit jacket as he raised the knife. She had asked for power. She had asked for victory. And victory required calculation, not just slaughter.
“Stop,” Skye said.
The word was soft, but it cut through the tension like a guillotine blade.
Alistair paused. The knife hovered inches from Dominic’s throat. He didn’t look at her, his gaze locked on his brother’s pulse.
“He is worth more alive,” Skye stated, her voice devoid of emotion. She stood and walked around the table. “Dominic holds the encryption keys to the offshore accounts in the Caymans. If he dies, two billion dollars evaporates. That is a poor return on investment.”
Alistair turned his head slowly. His eyes were dark, swirling with a violence that wanted release. “He betrayed the family. The penalty is death.”
“The penalty is whatever I say it is,” Skye corrected calmly. She stopped in front of him and placed a hand on his chest. Beneath the silk of his shirt, his heart was hammering—not from fear, but from the adrenaline of the kill. “We are not a cartel, Alistair. We are Oracle. We don’t execute. We liquidate.”
She looked down at Dominic. “You will sign the transfer papers. Then you will board a plane to Reykjavik. If you ever set foot in this hemisphere again, Alistair will finish what he started. And next time, I won’t interrupt.”
Dominic stared at her. A flicker of grudging respect crossed his eyes. He looked at Alistair, then back at Skye. “You have tamed the wolf, haven’t you? Or so you think.”
“Cut him loose,” Skye ordered.
Alistair hesitated for a fraction of a second. Then, with a sharp movement, he slashed through the zip-ties. Dominic slumped forward, rubbing his wrists.
“Get him out of my building,” Skye said to Victoria. “And ensure the transfer is completed before his plane takes off.”
Victoria escorted a limping Dominic out, and the heavy oak door clicked shut behind them. The silence that followed was heavy.
Alistair folded the knife and slipped it into his pocket. He looked at Skye, his expression unreadable.
“You took a risk,” he said, his voice low. “He will regroup. Snakes always do.”
“Let him,” Skye replied, turning back to the window and looking out over her city. “By the time he does, we will be untouchable.”
Alistair stepped closer, stopping just behind her. She could feel the heat radiating from him. “You are dangerous when you are merciful, Skye.”
“It wasn’t mercy,” she whispered, looking at her own reflection in the glass, superimposed over the city lights. “It was business.”
The door opened again. Gabriel Ross, the head of their new security detail, walked in. “The media is handled. We are spinning the noise complaints as a renovation accident. No police reports filed.”
“Excellent,” Skye said. She turned to Alistair. “Everyone is tired. Dinner is on me tonight.”
Alistair’s hand slid around her waist—a possessive, heavy weight. “No. I pay. Le Bernardin. I have already confirmed the reservation.”