Chapter 1

"You’re staring at the zeros like they’re going to bite you, Roderick. I promise, the math is correct."

Kendrick Shawcross leaned back in his leather chair, tapping a gold-plated pen against the mahogany desk. He looked far too relaxed for a man offering a contract that could buy a small island.

Roderick Vantrell didn’t look up from the tablet. "I’ve guarded senators, Kendrick. I’ve spent six months in a jungle protecting a CEO who was actively being hunted by three different cartels. None of them paid this much. Why is the hazard pay higher for a thirty-year-old socialite than it is for a war zone?"

"Because the cartels are predictable," Kendrick replied, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Elias Storme is a force of nature. Or a curse. Honestly, the jury is still out."

"He’s a trust fund kid with a penchant for expensive suits and bad publicity," Roderick muttered, finally sliding the tablet back across the desk. "How dangerous can he be?"

"In the last month? He’s been involved in two high-speed chases—he wasn't driving either time—a kitchen fire at the Ritz, and he somehow managed to get trapped in a lion enclosure during a charity gala. The lions were more confused than hungry, luckily."

Roderick rubbed the bridge of his nose. "So I’m not a bodyguard. I’m a nanny."

"You’re a miracle worker if you keep him alive through the weekend," Kendrick said, a grim smile touching his lips. "There’s a heist crew hitting the circuit lately. They’re professional, they’re fast, and they’ve got a weird obsession with the Storme family’s collection. Elias is heading to the Galere d’Art tonight. He’s an easy target."

"Is he at least going to listen to me?"

Kendrick laughed. It wasn't a comforting sound. "Elias Storme doesn't even listen to the laws of physics, Roderick. Just get to the gallery. He’s already there. Try not to let him break anything—including himself."

*

The Galere d’Art smelled of overpriced champagne and desperation. Roderick moved through the crowd with the practiced invisibility of a professional, his ears tuned to the hum of his earpiece.

"I don't see him, Kendrick," Roderick said, adjusting his cufflink. "The VIP wing is crowded."

"Look for the loudest person in the room who isn't actually speaking," Kendrick’s voice crackled back. "He has a certain... aura."

Roderick turned a corner into the Ming Dynasty exhibit and stopped dead.

In the center of the room, a man with windswept dark hair and a suit that cost more than Roderick’s car was currently grappling with a masked individual. But they weren't fighting over a weapon. They were tugging on a heavy, gold-trimmed frame holding a landscape painting.

"Sir! Please!" the thief hissed, his voice muffled by a balaclava. "Let go of the canvas!"

"Absolutely not!" Elias Storme shouted, his face flushed with indignation. "Do you have any idea how much humidity affects this era of oil painting? You’re manhandling it! You’re going to cause micro-fractures in the glaze!"

"I’m stealing it!" the thief yelled back, sounding genuinely stressed.

"Well, steal it properly! Where is your climate-controlled transport? Where is your bubble wrap?" Elias yanked the frame toward himself. "I am rescuing this from your incompetence!"

Roderick sighed, the sound heavy with the weight of his life choices. He stepped forward, his pace accelerating into a sprint. "Mr. Storme! Get down!"

"Oh, hello!" Elias looked over his shoulder, beaming as if he were greeting an old friend at a garden party. "Are you the new guy? Look at this ruffian! He’s putting his thumbprints directly on the scenery!"

"I have a gun!" the thief barked, reaching for his waistband with his free hand.

"And I have a headache," Roderick growled.

He closed the distance in three strides. Before the thief could draw, Roderick swept the man’s legs out from under him. As the thief tumbled, Roderick caught the edge of the painting before it hit the floor, guiding it into a steady position against a pedestal. With a fluid motion, he pinned the thief’s arm behind his back and slammed him into the marble floor.

"Hands behind your back. Don't make me break anything," Roderick commanded.

"My hero!" Elias chirped, clapping his hands together. "That was incredibly dramatic. The footwork? Exquisite. Are you a dancer?"

"I’m your bodyguard," Roderick snapped, his knee pressed into the thief’s spine. "And you almost got shot over a piece of canvas."

"It’s not just canvas, it’s a masterpiece," Elias argued, leaning over to inspect the painting. "And look! Not a scratch. You’re much better than the last guy. He fainted when a waiter dropped a tray of appetizers."

"Stay where you are, Mr. Storme," Roderick said, reaching for his zip-ties. "There might be more of them."

"Oh, there definitely are," Elias said, pointing toward the far end of the hall. "Two more ran off with the blue vase. You should probably go get them. It’s a very important vase. My grandmother would be devastated. She uses it for her fake peonies."

Roderick looked down at the thief he’d captured, then back at Elias. "I can't leave you unattended."

"Nonsense! I’ll just wait right here," Elias promised, leaning casually against a towering marble statue of a Greek god. "I won't move an inch. Scout’s honor. I wasn't actually a scout, mind you, I was kicked out for trying to reorganize the merit badge system, but the sentiment holds."

Roderick hesitated. He could hear shouting coming from the main hall. If there was a crew, he needed to secure the perimeter. "Stay. Right. There. Do not touch anything."

"My hands are firmly in my pockets," Elias said, offering a winning, slightly lopsided smile.

Roderick stood up, dragging the unconscious thief toward a security pillar. He took one last look at Elias, who seemed perfectly content staring at the painting. Roderick turned and ran toward the sounds of the scuffle in the adjacent room, his mind already calculating the quickest way to neutralize the remaining threats.

He was gone for exactly forty-five seconds.

He tackled a second thief near the exit, disarmed a third with a well-placed elbow to the solar plexus, and signaled the gallery’s actual security team to take over.

"Sector clear," Roderick breathed into his comms. "Kendrick, I’ve got three down. Checking on the asset now."

"Is he alive?" Kendrick asked.

"He’s fine. He’s just... standing there."

Roderick rounded the corner back into the Ming exhibit. Elias was still there, but he wasn't standing. He was leaning forward, squinting at a small plaque on the base of the massive marble statue he had been leaning on earlier.

"Mr. Storme, we’re leaving," Roderick said, his voice firm. "The building isn't secure yet."

"Just a second," Elias said, his brow furrowed. "I think this inscription is a typo. It says '14th Century' but the drapery on the toga is clearly Hellenistic—"

"I don't care about the toga. We are going. Now."

Roderick walked over, reaching out to grab Elias by the arm to force him toward the exit. Elias, startled by the sudden movement, jerked backward. His shoulder slammed into the pedestal of the three-hundred-pound marble statue.

The statue groaned. It wobbled.

"Oops," Elias whispered.

"Don't say oops," Roderick said, his eyes widening. "Move!"

"It’s tipping!" Elias cried out, instead of actually moving. He tried to catch the statue with his hands, which was like trying to stop a falling boulder with a toothpick. "Oh dear, it’s quite heavy!"

"Elias, get back!"

Roderick lunged forward, not to save the art, but to shove the idiot out of the way. He caught Elias by the waist and threw him toward the velvet-covered bench a few feet away.

But as Roderick planted his foot to pivot, his heel slid on a stray bit of glass from a broken display case. He lost his balance for a split second—just long enough for the shadow of the falling deity to engulf him.

CRASH.

The sound was deafening. Dust and marble chips sprayed into the air.

Silence followed, broken only by the distant sound of police sirens.

"Roderick?" Elias’s voice was small, tentative. "Are you under there? You didn't make a sound, which is either very brave or very concerning."

Roderick lay flat on the floor. The statue hadn't crushed his torso, but it had pinned his legs firmly to the ground, the heavy marble torso of Apollo resting across his shins like a literal ton of bricks.

He stared up at the ceiling, his breath coming in slow, pained hitches.

Elias’s face appeared in his field of vision, looking down at him with genuine worry and a ridiculous amount of charm. "Oh, that looks... uncomfortable. On the bright side, you saved me! And the floor! You really broke the statue’s fall with your legs."

Roderick closed his eyes. "Kendrick?" he wheezed into his earpiece.

"I’m here," Kendrick’s voice replied. "What happened? I heard a crash."

"I want a raise," Roderick rasped.

"A raise? You’ve been on the job for twenty minutes!"

"Double the zeros," Roderick said, watching as Elias tried to 'help' by pulling on the statue’s arm, which only caused more pressure on Roderick’s ankles. "Because the assassins aren't the problem. He’s going to kill me by accident before the sun comes up."

"I heard that!" Elias pouted, letting go of the marble arm. It thudded back down, making Roderick hiss in pain. "I’ll have you know I’m very helpful in a crisis. Do you want me to get you some water? Or perhaps a small cushion? I think there’s a decorative pillow in the next room that would match your suit."

Roderick looked at the ceiling again, praying for the sweet release of a blackout. "Make it triple the zeros, Kendrick. And send a medic. And a priest."