196

The massive, dark jet cut through the warm, blue sky. It looked like a very expensive, very fast storm cloud. Below them was Sicily, the ancient, unforgiving home of the mafia. The landing was soft, but the feeling was hard. This was not a vacation. This was the enemy's living room.

Hades helped Claudine off the plane. His arm around her was like a clamp. He did not smile. He did not look around with curiosity. His eyes were cold, sharp pieces of glass, constantly moving, constantly checking. He looked like a god of war who was trying very hard to pretend he was just a rich man in a suit.

"Not so sweet, this Sicily," Hades murmured to her, a rare attempt at a simple pun, but his voice was flat. He was already the Crossbearer.

The hotel was not near the city. It was high up on a secluded hill, a fortress made of thick, pale stone, miles away from the trouble. Once inside the massive, quiet suite, Hades did not sit down. He moved like a ghost, checking every window, every lock, every co