Page 20 of Merciless Heir
A Sinclair jewel? Something that until recently hasn’t been seen? The whispers in the different worlds I’ve moved through are the final piece, the tiara, is meant to be the best, and worth the most if one was to split them up.
The whispers also talk of if the Sinclair jewels did still exist, then they were so elusive they might well be ghosts.
I doubt Kingston knows, but there have been attempts to break into different Sinclair enclaves to find them. Nothing came of it. Anything Sinclair I steered clear of, because their reach has always been vast, and retribution not worth it.
So, to take this route, to work with a Sinclair—or two of them in this case, even if the man with me doesn’t know that—and have a chance to get my hands on the tiara?
It’s too delicious, too tempting, to resist.
I want my hands on it.
I want to see all the Sinclair jewels up close.
Maybe get my hands on one for myself.
I know I could, if I do it right, have one replicated and replaced.
I’m thinking that should be the tiara.
The price that thing will fetch…I breathe out. That price is worth the entire sky.
Kingston leans forward. “From that look on your face, you’re planning on a lot more than a simple yes to working with me.”
“What look?”
“The one you had right before you slipped your cooler than silk expression back in place, Sadie.” He slides a finger along the condensation of my glass, his flesh so close to mine it makes my breath stutter in my throat. “Been out of the game a little too long?”
I meet his gaze. “You’re seeing things that aren’t there.”
“No,” he says, “I’m not. And you’d be wise not to plan anything other than the help I’m going to be paying you for. Got that?”
“Like it’s the clearest glass.”
“Good.” He drops his hand, fingers skimming mine, sending a delicate thread of electricity through me. Then he leans back in his chair. “What drew you to this life?”
“The paid vacations and healthcare.”
He laughs and shakes his head. “You should watch yourself there, Sadie, or I might start liking you.”
“We can’t have that.”
The laughter dies. “No, we can’t.”
I take in a shaking breath and follow it with a deep swallow of my herb and floral drink that’s like a spring morning in the countryside. Or what I imagine one would be like. I’m not really one for the countryside. “How do you know this place?”
“Montague’s?” Kingston looks about at the mix of people in there, some sharing bites and some small meals. Rich people, the well-to-do, all glossy and confident and having a quietly good time.
But it’s not like Billionaire’s Row or the Upper East and West sides, or, god forbid, Park Avenue. These people are a mix of various tiers. Various dress. There’s a realness here I somehow prefer and I look back at Kingston, who’s now looking at me.
“This isn’t the kind of place that’s in Time Out New York.”
He smiles lazily. “You’re thinking of my youngest brother. I don’t give a fuck about on trend or old school places for the rich and bored.”
“You like this?”
“I hope so. I own Monty’s. And half the block.”
“Of course you do.” A man of many hats, one who can spin different and varied pies all at once, and spin them right into pie stores that rake in money.