Chapter 5. The Bloodlines

MAXIMILIANO

[France. A year later]

"Been friends with Archambault a long time?"

"A while." Magnus, the short-haired businessman in the collared shirt grinned at me and my cousin. The guy's smile didn't touch his pale green eyes.

Or they could be gray. Bluish gray. Light green. Who gives a shit... He and Mykaela didn't share any other physical traits besides their height, slim build, and dark hair.

This 40-something wealthy entrepreneur—the firstborn son of a wealthier dr*g lord—also looked like he could knock anyone down with a single punch. The way he talked as if we'd already met only doubled the air of confidence around him. At least a few inches taller than me and Ricchar, too.

"You trust him with your life kind of friend?" Ricchar chuckled beside me.

"Excuse me. Phone call." Niccolo got up from his seat and flung me a 'Fuck! It's Stefano!' look as he walked off with his phone.

Pappa must be calling to chew him out. Probably growin