I WATCHED JASPER through the one-way glass. He lay on a king-size bed, eyes glued to a handheld video game. MTV flashed on the plasma screen affixed to the wall. A take-out pizza box rested by his elbow.

This was how the Cortez Cabal treated the man who’d killed two of its top executives and attempted to kill its CEO. This was how my father treated the man who’d murdered two of his sons and plotted to kill the rest of his family.

I knew the room was actually a jail cell. A life sentence with no chance of parole, kept alive only because he could prove useful. But it wasn’t enough. For his crimes, and for the threat he posed, I wanted him dead.

My father had decreed mercy. I’d argued for capital punishment. Did I ever think I’d see that day?

I had weighed the factors and decided Jasper Haig should not be allowed to live. How often had my father made that very decision and I’d condemned him for it?

Only twenty-four hours ago, I hadn’t hesitated to condemn another criminal. When my father had suggested sending a convicted murderer to meet Hope in Paige’s place, I’d agreed, knowing I was sending that woman to an almost certain death.

I’d weighed the factors, analyzed the risks and made my decision. Whatever I felt about the outcome, I still believed we’d made the right choice.

“Sir?”

Griffin gestured toward the door, impatient for me to get this meeting over with so he could return to my father’s side. I lifted a finger and checked my cell phone. Three text and two voice messages. None of them from Paige.

She was back at the hotel, working. Work she could have done from any office in the building. But since yesterday—since I’d agreed with my father’s plan—there’d been a distance between us that I knew I wasn’t imagining.

I’d text messaged her an hour ago, asking her to join me for lunch. No answer yet.

I closed the phone and motioned for the guard to open Jasper’s cell.

Jasper sat up, legs swinging over the bedside. Two guards darted past me, flanking him and motioning for him to stay seated. As he settled back onto the bed, one fingered his gun, the other readied his powers.

Jasper’s lips curved, amused by the thought that he presented such a threat. If he wanted to strike at me, he’d hardly do it in front of three Cabal guards. Jasper was a plotter, not a fighter.

Even as he reclined against the pillows, smirking, I could feel the weight of his gaze on me, assessing me, then shifting to the guards, judging which he could best impersonate.