Zane's POV
The mirrored walls of the elevator reflected Rhys's unsettling smile back at me, multiplying the effect like a distorted image in a funhouse. Play house. The phrase hung in the air, thick with a casual menace that sent a shiver down my spine, a sensation I ruthlessly suppressed. I kept my gaze fixed on the ascending numbers, the digital display a stark contrast to the unsettling warmth radiating from the man beside me. He wanted a reaction. He wouldn't get one easily.
"So," I began, my voice cool and professional, each word carefully measured, cutting through the manufactured silence. "What's the charming backstory Hayes concocted for our little charade?" I needed the details, the inconsistencies, the potential pitfalls. Every lie was a vulnerability.
Rhys leaned against the back wall of the elevator, his arms crossed loosely, a picture of relaxed confidence that screamed practiced deception. I cataloged the subtle tells: the almost imperceptible tension in his shoulders, the way his eyes flickered around the confined space despite his seemingly casual posture. He was assessing me just as intently as I was assessing him. "Newly engaged, darling," he drawled, the endearment sounding foreign and deliberately provocative. "A whirlwind romance that blossomed during a luxury cruise through the Greek Isles. He was captivated by your… intensity," his gaze lingered on mine for a beat, a spark of something unreadable flickering within, "and you, my dear Zane, were swept away by my irresistible charm and devastating good looks." His tone was light, almost mocking, and the urge to deliver a sharp elbow to his ribs was surprisingly strong.
"Right," I said flatly, the single word dripping with skepticism. "Greek Isles. How original."
"Details, details," Rhys waved a dismissive hand, the gesture fluid and almost elegant. "The point is, we're deeply, madly in love and eager to celebrate our impending nuptials with a lavish pre-wedding getaway at the Blackwood Estate in Tuscany." He emphasized his family name with a subtle pride that didn't quite ring true. Another layer, then. Family dynamics could be a useful tool.
Blackwood Estate. His family, then. That added a significant layer of complexity to an already convoluted operation. "And this estate is where our vipers' nest resides?" I pressed, needing the specifics. Locations, layouts, security measures.
"Figuratively speaking," Rhys corrected, his smile finally fading, the playful mask slipping to reveal a glint of something sharper, something predatory. "The estate is owned by Alessandro Moretti, a man with impeccable connections and a penchant for… acquiring rare and valuable things. Including people." The casual way he delivered that last phrase sent a cold tendril of unease through me. This wasn't just about drugs or weapons.
The elevator doors slid open, revealing a sleek, modern lobby that felt jarringly out of place with the Tuscan setting Hayes had described. Rhys gestured for me to follow with a sweeping arm, his movements bordering on theatrical. "Our entry point is as a prospective buyer for some of Moretti's 'exclusive' artwork. Apparently, he uses these transactions as a way to vet potential clients and move his… other merchandise."
As we walked towards the exit, the heavy oak doors opening automatically to reveal the sun-drenched Tuscan landscape, the cool air carrying the scent of cypress and earth, I couldn't shake the feeling that this mission was going to be far more intricate – and far more personal – than Hayes had let on. And working alongside Rhys Blackwood, with his unsettling charm, the barely leashed darkness I sensed simmering beneath the surface, and the unnerving feeling that he was enjoying this far too much, was a complication I hadn't anticipated. This 'play house' was starting to feel like a very dangerous game indeed, one where the lines between our roles might blur with terrifying ease.
Rhys's POV
The mirrored walls of the elevator offered a doubled reflection of Zane Volkov, and I studied both. Her posture was rigid, controlled, her gaze fixed on the ascending numbers as if they held the secrets of the universe. A fascinating contrast to the barely contained tension I sensed radiating from her. Play house, I'd said, and the flicker of something – distaste? – that had crossed her sharp features had been… enlightening. She wasn't going to enjoy this. All the better.
"So," she began, her voice cool, precise, slicing through the manufactured silence. "What's the charming backstory Hayes concocted for our little charade?" Efficient. Straight to the point. No wasted energy. I almost admired it.
I leaned against the back wall of the elevator, arms crossed, projecting an air of casual amusement. It usually disarmed people. Volkov remained unmoved. "Newly engaged, darling," I purred the endearment, watching her closely for a reaction. A barely perceptible tightening of her lips. Progress. "A whirlwind romance that blossomed during a luxury cruise through the Greek Isles. He was captivated by your… intensity," my gaze lingered on hers, deliberately provocative, and I saw a flicker of something unreadable deep within those steel-grey eyes, "and you, my dear Zane, were swept away by my irresistible charm and devastating good looks." My tone was light, almost mocking, designed to prick her composure.
"Right," she said flatly, the skepticism practically dripping from the single word. "Greek Isles. How original." Sarcasm. A sharp edge. I liked it.
"Details, details," I waved a dismissive hand, enjoying the subtle irritation I was clearly eliciting. "The point is, we're deeply, madly in love and eager to celebrate our impending nuptials with a lavish pre-wedding getaway at the Blackwood Estate in Tuscany." I let a hint of genuine pride color the mention of my family name. Let her see that there were layers here, connections.
Blackwood Estate. Her gaze sharpened at the name. Good. She was intelligent, making the connections. "And this estate is where our vipers' nest resides?" she pressed, her focus unwavering.
"Figuratively speaking," I corrected, letting the playful mask slip, revealing the steel beneath. "The estate is owned by Alessandro Moretti, a man with impeccable connections and a penchant for… acquiring rare and valuable things. Including people." The casual delivery of that last part was deliberate, a way to gauge her reaction to the darker aspects of our mission. A flicker of something – cold fury? – tightened the muscles around her jaw. Interesting.
The elevator doors slid open, revealing the sterile lobby. I gestured for her to precede me. "Our entry point is as a prospective buyer for some of Moretti's 'exclusive' artwork. Apparently, he uses these transactions as a way to vet potential clients and move his… other merchandise."
As we stepped out into the Tuscan air, the scent of sun-baked earth and distant vineyards filling my senses, I watched Volkov. Her senses were clearly on high alert, her gaze sweeping the surroundings with a practiced efficiency. She was a predator in disguise, just like me. This 'play house' was going to be a fascinating exercise. And the simmering tension between us? Well, that was just an added layer of… intrigue. I had a feeling that beneath that icy exterior, Zane Volkov held a fire that I might just enjoy stoking.