Midnight arrived. The palace was silent, except for the wind blowing against the stone walls. Silas lay awake, dressed in dark silk pajamas. He heard a faint scratching at the window.
He climbed out of bed and opened it. A black rope had been thrown from the roof. A man in a mask climbed down—it was his brother, Jax.
"Silas! We thought you were dead," Jax whispered. "Come on, the car is waiting at the gate."
"I don't have the drive yet," Silas said. "The Prince has it. I need to find his private safe."
"Forget the drive! The Prince is dangerous. He's been hunting our family for years," Jax urged. "Get on the rope!"
Before Silas could grab the rope, the lights in the room snapped on.
Alaric was standing at the door, holding a silver pistol. He didn't look surprised. He looked disappointed.
"Amnesia?" Alaric laughed, but the sound was cold. "You really thought I would believe a Mafia Ghost forgot how to kill?"
Alaric fired the gun—not at Silas, but at the rope. The rope snapped, and Jax screamed as he fell into the darkness of the garden below.
"Jax!" Silas screamed. He lunged at Alaric, but the Prince caught him, pinning Silas's arms behind his back.
"Your brother is alive, but he's a prisoner now," Alaric hissed into Silas's neck. "And you... you are done playing games. Since you wanted to leave your 'fiancé' so badly, I think it's time I marked you properly so everyone knows who you really are."
Alaric's Alpha scent exploded in the room—heavy, dark, and overwhelming. Silas struggled, but the hit to his head from the night before made him dizzy.
"I'm going to make you forget the Mafia, Silas," Alaric whispered. "By the time I'm done with you, you won't be pretending anymore."