Chapter 16 - The Phantom of the Parisian Conservatory
The soft,
warm spring rain washed over the ancient cobblestone avenues of Paris,
reflecting the romantic golden lights of the Palais Garnier high above the Seine.
Two months had passed since our triumphant wedding gala in Boston,
a day that had captured the fascination of newspapers across the globe.
I stood on the private balcony of our luxury penthouse suite at the Hôtel de Crillon,
draped in a soft white cashmere robe that kept the cool night mist at bay.
In my hand,
I held a warm glass of sparkling cider,
watching the Eiffel Tower shimmer in the distance like a towering beacon of diamonds.
The transformation of my life still felt breathtakingly unreal,
yet the heavy black diamond ring glistening on my left hand grounded me in absolute reality.
I was no longer Elena Marlow,
the forgotten housemaid polishing crystal in cold servants' quarters.
I was Elena Voss,
the co-owner of an international music empire,
the defender of my father's memory,
and the beloved wife of the most dangerous man in North America.
A pair of strong,
warm arms slid around my waist from behind,
pulling my back against a broad,
solid chest.
Cassian rested his chin gently against my shoulder,
his deep,
steady breath tickling the soft skin of my neck.
"You are thinking about him again,
aren't you?"
Cassian murmured,
his low voice laced with infinite tenderness.
"I can always tell when your mind wanders back to your father."
I leaned back into his solid embrace,
turning my head slightly to press a soft kiss against his strong jawline.
"I was thinking about how Dad always dreamed of bringing me to Paris,"
I admitted,
a nostalgic,
gentle smile touching my lips.
"He used to tell me that Samuel Weiss composed his early masterpieces in a small attic workshop near Montmartre."
"He said that the wooden soundboards crafted in Paris had a soul that could make a stone wall weep."
"Then we shall find that soul tomorrow,
my sweet queen,"
Cassian said,
his thumb softly tracing the curve of my hip beneath the cashmere robe.
"My intelligence network has located Master Weiss's original European estate in the historic district."
"It has remained sealed for thirty years,"
locked behind a complex probate battle initiated by European associates of the Sovereign Circle.
"They tried to sell off his remaining instruments to private collectors,"
Cassian added,
his tone shifting into a cold,
lethal edge.
"Including the legendary lost twin of the Imperial Bösendorfer."
I spun around in his arms,
my dark eyes widening in complete astonishment.
"The twin piano?!"
I gasped,
clutching the lapels of his dark silk robe.
"Samuel Weiss only built two custom acoustic twins in his entire lifetime!"
"My father helped him calibrate the first one in Boston,"
the very piano we unlocked beneath Blackthorn Manor!
"He always believed the second twin was destroyed during the European war!"
"It was hidden,"
Cassian revealed,
a breathtaking,
triumphant smirk spreading across his handsome face.
"Stored inside a climate-controlled vault beneath the old Paris Conservatoire by a loyal apprentice who refused to betray Weiss."
"However,"
a crooked French aristocrat named Count Henri de Laurent,"
who sat on the board of the Sovereign Circle's European branch,"
has scheduled a private black-market auction tomorrow night to sell the instrument to an anonymous offshore buyer.
I felt a cold,
familiar fire ignite deep within my chest,
burning away any lingering fatigue from our long transatlantic flight.
"Count de Laurent thinks he can sell my family's heritage under the cover of a Parisian auction?"
I asked,
my voice taking on a fierce,
unyielding edge that made Cassian's dark eyes burn with dark pride.
"He thinks he is dealing with a helpless deceased composer's family,"
Cassian purred,
lowering his face to press a deep,
possessive kiss against my lips.
"He has no idea,"
that the maid of Blackthorn Manor has arrived in Paris to claim her throne.
"Marcus has already secured our invitations to the Count's private salon,"
Cassian whispered against my mouth,
his hands tightening around my waist.
"Tomorrow night,
my love,"
May you like
we remind Europe who rules the music,"
and who rules the shadows.
