Billionaire Ever After

by Blair Babylon

  He asked Dieter, “How many of your people do you have with you?”

  “Ten, Durchlaucht.”

  Wulf said, “Bring two of your people here to stay with Reagan.” He looked behind himself. “Julian and Romain, you’ll stay, in addition, for four men. Lock this place down, and bring my wife a firearm.”

  Dieter's Job

  Dieter Schwarz

  The entry team was crammed into two SUVs, large men squeezed three abreast in the seats, eight per car. They all still wore suits to conceal their handguns holstered under their arms or near their tailbones. While a team of men wearing black fatigues and carrying large rifles had not drawn attention in the American West, it might be remarked upon in Switzerland, so they went low-profile.

  But they wore military-issue combat boots. That was non-negotiable.

  Dieter sat next to Wulfram, who had barely blinked during the few minutes of the ride. Their arms pressed when the SUV rounded a corner, and neither of them shook with nerves. They both breathed slowly, methodically, dampening any adrenaline response.

  At the hotel, the concierges had come through in less than ten minutes, getting information on where Wulf’s father Phillipp had taken rooms, confirming the presence of the black Touareg in question, and reviewing surveillance footage to determine that the vehicle had returned recently. A young woman had been struggling as they took her up the back stairs to the Prince’s suite.

  Dieter had pinched his nose, disgusted that Phillipp’s team had been so sloppy with the hotel’s security cameras embedded in the ceilings, watching their every move. It was like they were trying to get caught, which was an excellent possibility. The Prince might be paying them, but few men wanted to commit actual crimes for their employer, especially kidnapping a kind, young woman to make her brother suffer on his wedding day, especially when many of those men may have known Flicka and Wulf since their childhoods.

  If Phillipp fired his staff, Dieter might take them on, if they had left a purposeful trail rather than just having been careless.

  The SUV hopped a bump as they sped toward the Prince’s hotel.

  The concierge was supposed to be waiting for them in the parking garage below. Dieter had only minutes left to talk to Wulf.

  Dieter cleared his throat. “So, one last operation for old time’s sake, Durchlaucht?”

  Wulf flickered his blond eyebrows just a bit. “You could say that.”

  “And this time, you will stay to the rear and enter the room only after we have secured the premises?”

  Wulf’s lips tightened. “I heard her crying.”

  “But this time?” Dieter pressed.

  “I’ll stay back. I can’t believe that we’re doing this again, but it was folly to believe that my father would give in so easily.”

  Audience

  Wulf von Hannover

  The concierge met Wulf and his team at the garage, escorted them up via the service entrance, and led them near the very doors of the Prince’s suite, muttering to hotel security on her headset the whole way. Evidently, whoever was watching from the cameras saw no problems ahead of them as the team moved through the corridors of the hotel.

  The concierge stood aside and raised her arm, gesturing to the next corner.

  Wulf and his men paused, moving silently into formation. He drew his handgun, a boxy Glock, from the holster under his arm. The dead weight of it pulled on his fingers and palm.

  “How far?” Wulf whispered to the concierge.

  “A few meters. Five, perhaps,” she said. “Suite 602.”

  The men nodded to each other, each signaling readiness.

  Friedhelm and Dieter took point, and they sprinted to the door.

  Wulf turned the corner a few steps behind them.

  Two men stood beside the door to the suite, leaning against the wall, their suit coats cut long and loose to conceal firearms. They glanced at Wulf and the team running toward them, raised their hands, and stood aside.

  Yes, as Wulf had suspected, his father’s security team may have been ordered to kidnap Flicka, but no one could force them to diligently defend their crime.

  They backed up another step as Wulf’s group advanced on the door. One of his father’s men leaned over and held a keycard above the door’s lock, ready to open it for them.

  Certainly telling, ja?

  The man pushed the door open and stepped back, raising his hands in the air. Dieter and Friedhelm ran inside, guns drawn.

  Wulf slowed as the rest rushed in. He hated it, but Dieter was right. He had a pregnant wife who was having complications, and he had his own paramilitary force. This time, he should command from the rear.

  Through his earpiece, Wulf heard Dieter announce, “Clear!”

  That was quick, and the silence inside precluded any scuffle or gunshots.

  Wulf walked into the room, flanked by more of his men.

  Dieter held Flicka behind him, gun pointed at the one last security man, who stood beside an older man seated in a chair, Wulf’s father. Flicka was holding onto Dieter’s shoulder and pressed her face to his back. His arm shielded her while he aimed his gun at the men.

  Good. Wulf had known that he could trust Dieter.

  The Monégasque security men held their guns at the ready, pointing toward Wulf’s father and his lone, remaining security guy, who stood with his hands in the air and stared at the ceiling.

  Wulf’s father, His Serene Highness, The Hereditary Prince of Hannover, Philipp Augustus, crossed his legs and smirked.

  Wulf held up his hand. “Everyone out.”

  Dieter said, “You’re not staying in here alone.”

  “Everyone out,” Wulf repeated. Anger simmered under his skin. He said to Dieter, “Take Flicka back to the hotel. Leave a few men outside the door for my transport.”

  Dieter paused, watching the one security guy who was making sure that he looked like absolutely no threat, standing with his hands raised, and then Dieter edged out of the room, still shielding Flicka with his body. Most of the other security guys fell into formation around Dieter and Flicka.

  Friedhelm escorted the last of Phillipp’s security men out with them at gunpoint.

  Wulf watched them until they walked through the door, leaving him alone with his father.

  The door clicked shut.

  Wulf turned back. He lowered his weapon but kept it ready. He didn’t think his father would try to jump him or brandish a weapon, but he might have more security personnel in the small suite.

  He pried the earpiece out of his ear and pressed the button to turn it off, sighing, “What am I going to do with you?”

  “I’ve given you an opportunity,” his father said, staring straight at him. “You can call off the ceremony today.”

  A chair had been placed opposite his father. Flicka had probably been seated there, talking to him. A low coffee table sat between the chairs.

  Wulf sat down. “I’m not calling off the wedding.”

  “I’ve given you the perfect opportunity,” Phillipp insisted, staring at Wulf with eyes the same dark blue as his own.

  They had spent little time together, even when Wulf had been a child, and seeing the man who looked so like himself, only nearly forty years older, was a small shock like the snap of static. Even though Wulf knew that Phillipp was still considered handsome—silver hair, deep blue eyes, and the remnants of an athlete’s build—he seemed like a dark omen of everything that could go wrong in Wulf’s life. He had no relationships with a woman or his own children, and he pursued a death wish with fast cars because his body would no longer allow him to try to kill himself with horse jumping or alpine skiing.

  “We married legally months ago,” Wulf said. “We are married. We have been married. I have included her on every important legal document. If I were to die today, she and our child would inherit everything. This wedding is a social event.”

  “And thus the more important symbol,” Phillipp said. “Can’t you get that through your thick head
?”

  “The ceremony will take place today. You, however, will not attend. When people remark upon your absence, I’ll tell them that even though the sovereign head of the house of Welf approved the marriage, you did not.”

  “Good,” his father sneered. “I’ll make sure everyone knows.”

  “Of course, you will.” Wulf shook his head. “Your security staff will be replaced with mine. They’re no longer your security. They will be your jailers. They will answer to me and my administration. Your communications will be monitored.”

  “That’s outrageous,” his father said, his jaw tight.

  “If you do not comply, I will entirely cut off your funds. Even your personal fortune, such that it is called, is at the discretion of the house. I will literally throw you out on the street with the clothes on your back, and I will have men around you to ensure that you don’t receive help from anyone.”

  “That’s disrespectful,” his father said, but he didn’t seem outraged.

  Perhaps he didn’t mean to try Wulf’s displeasure any further. Perhaps this was the last attack in a war that, Wulf was quite sure, had begun when a madman had killed the wrong nine-year-old.

  A door from farther inside the suite opened.

  Wulf was on his feet, gun at eye level, before the door was even half-open.

  Over the gun—the dot of the front sight neatly seated in the notch of the rear—a slim woman entered, carrying a tray with a silver coffee service. A few strands of iron gray highlighted her dark hair, pulled back in a tidy bun. Her dark eyes widened, and her mouth was opening.

  There was something very familiar about her.

  What Did He Say To You?

  Dieter Schwarz

  Dieter shoved Flicka into the middle seat of the SUV and clambered in after her. The driver pulled the car away from the curb before they were even settled and raced to get out of the parking garage. His feet slid out from under him, and he tumbled against the seat.

  Parking garages always felt like a trap. So many places to snipe from and so few witnesses.

  Flicka clutched her phone in her hand and squeezed it to power it on. He had seen her grab it off a table near the door as he had hustled her out, so they must have taken it away from her. She hadn’t been able to contact them with it while she was there if she had wanted to. The phone had been off, which explained why they hadn’t been able to trace it.

  Dieter reached into his suit pocket, found his handkerchief, and gave it to her.

  “Thanks,” she muttered, wiping the mascara smudges from under her eyes and down her cheeks. She wiped black smears off her hands and palms, too.

  “Are you all right?” he asked.

  “I just need to touch base with the event coordinators. I’m sure everything is fine.”

  Dieter grabbed her hand, gently. He had known her since she had been a gangly twelve-year-old, when he had used to go home with Wulf for holidays while they had been in the military. “Are you all right?”

  She looked up at him, her enormous, dark-green eyes widening further, and she turned her hand over in his and held on. She didn’t smile. If anything, it looked like she was swallowing a horrified scream.

  She said, slowly, “I have to plan this wedding. Everything has to be perfect. Right now, I have to think about that and nothing else.”

  Dieter had put together several things about Wulf’s life from the little that he had divulged, and every single conclusion he had reached about Wulf and Flicka’s father had been vile. “What did he tell you?”

  “Nothing,” Flicka said, shaking off his hand and sitting back. “I have a wedding to pull off.” Her next glance up at him held glints of angry green fire. “Help me concentrate on this wedding.”

  “You know that he has lied to Wulfram and many others, trying to create chaos and ruin this wedding and their lives together, right?” Saying it left a bitter taste in his mouth. “Anything that he said to you might have been a ploy to cause conflict at Wulfram’s wedding.”

  “Yes,” she said, and her clumped, wet lashes blinked over her impossibly green eyes.

  “Wulfram deserves a perfect wedding,” Dieter said.

  “Yes,” she said, breathing more easily.

  “How can I help?”

  Flicka nodded quickly. “When we get to the hotel, get his clothes and we’ll go straight to the church. They’re in a garment bag in his closet, pressed and ready to go. Everything is in there, like a kit. Just grab the bag.”

  Liesel

  Wulf von Hannover

  Wulf snapped the gun straight up toward the ceiling before the maid could drop the coffee pot and cups. “I’m sorry, miss.”

  His father said, “Liesel, please bring that over.”

  Please?

  Wulf whipped his head around to look at his father.

  He was smiling at the housemaid, gathering the skin at the corners of his mouth into slight folds. “Don’t be frightened. Wulfram is a bit paranoid, but he’s harmless.”

  Wulf’s left eyebrow twitched, trying to rise, but he kept his demeanor smooth.

  The woman, who was perhaps in her early forties, set the tray on the coffee table between the two chairs. A faint blush crept up to her cheekbones, and she stole a glance at Wulf as she bent over.

  She was very familiar to him, somehow. Wulf hadn’t been to Schloss Marienburg, the residence, more than a handful of times in the last two decades. He did not remember seeing her when he and Rae had visited to retrieve supplies for Flicka’s wedding a few months before. For his own wedding, Flicka had gone to Hannover to raid the proverbial cupboards for the diamonds.

  Yet, Liesel looked amazingly familiar. Her cheekbones, and the line of her mouth, especially.

  Wulf returned to sitting, though he held the handgun and rested it on his knee, pointing off toward the back of the suite.

  He thought that Liesel must be perhaps ten years older than himself, so she couldn’t have been in service when he was a small child, when he had lived there. She must have been hired after he had left at the age of five to go to boarding school.

  When he had been nine, and recuperating from the attack, perhaps?

  No. He didn’t remember her, and he had spent most of his time in hospital, anyway, until he had gone back to boarding school.

  When his mother had fallen sick, when he had been fifteen and had come back to Schloss Marienburg for her last month, before he and Flicka had gone back to school?

  He scanned through his memories, trying to age her backward, but no, he didn’t remember her.

  After Wulf’s mother had died, his father had packed off six-year-old Flicka to Le Rosey as planned, only one day later, and Flicka had driven the dormitory mothers devil-fox wild by sneaking into the teenage boys’ dorm to be with Wulf, her only living relative who had seemed to care about her. Wulf had gotten permission to take a house and raise Flicka himself, off-campus. He hadn’t gone back to Schloss Marienburg after that. Wulf had set up his own household, hiring a driver and a few staff, and stealing his household manager from his father, Frau Rosamunde Keller—

  Wulf looked more closely at Liesel.

  Many of the von Hannovers’ staff had been with the noble family for generations, serving them and taking care of the household and properties. One family, the Schraders, had had family members working with the horses for five generations.

  The Kellers had been in service in the household for several generations.

  And perhaps one additional generation.

  Those strong cheekbones, the firm line of her lips, Wulf was nearly sure that he was looking at Rosamunde Keller’s daughter, who must have been around twenty-five when Wulf had stolen Georg and Rosamunde Keller to work for him in Switzerland.

  Liesel stood, trailing her fingers across the silver tray, a sensual move.

  She was looking back at Wulf’s father, who smiled up at her with a dark sparkle in his blue eyes. “Thank you, Liesel.”

  He tasted her name in his mouth like
his tongue stroked the L’s.

  The blush in Liesel’s cheekbones brightened. Her hand hung in the air for a moment, near where Phillipp’s hand clutched the armrest of his chair.

  Phillipp turned his palm up, casually, and he brushed her fingertips as he reached for the coffeepot. His blue eyes didn’t crease with his smile.

  His coldness was appalling.

  Liesel floated out of the room, closing the door behind herself.

  Wulf turned back to his father, running a thousand conversations in his head through to their logical conclusions.

  After a beat, he asked, “Are you fucking one of your staff?”

  “Don’t be vulgar.” Phillipp stirred sugar into this coffee.

  “Are you?” Wulf asked again, his voice taking on a sharp edge.

  Phillipp set his spoon on the tray. “When I want a woman, I drink at the yacht club until one approaches me, one that’s younger, good-looking, and of our class.”

  “Do you care about her?”

  He looked at Wulf over his coffee cup, and his lip lifted. “She’s a servant. She serves her purpose.”

  His father was a monster.

  Wulf braced his hands on his knees. “My security men will replace yours immediately. You’re restricted to these rooms for the rest of the evening. Tomorrow, you’ll be driven back to Kaiserhaus. Do not expect to receive visitors or leave the house for a month.”

  “I have a race in two weeks,” Phillipp said.

  “You’ll stay in that house. No one will pack for you. No one will drive you to the airport or rent you a plane. Your car will not be shipped.”

  “I’ll fire them all and replace them with my own people.”

  “You can’t fire them, and you can’t hire new staff. Your accounts are now under my control. Your staff are all in my employ,” he looked at the door, “even Liesel.”