Things couldn’t have been better. Right up to the moment that Dan Wirth stepped off Ashanti as a supposed Taglioni prize.

If I live to see Derek, I’ll rip him into little pieces and ship his remains home in a jar, she promised herself.

Instead of anticipating a marvelous supper at Three Spires with a gorgeous male from the Hetaira guild hanging off each arm, she was standing here—next to one of the most odious and dangerous human beings to have ever lived—after nineteen months of incarceration in the cramped warrens that Turalon called “executive cabins.” Waiting. Terrified that at any moment, Captain Abibi’s voice would inform them all, “Our apologies, ladies and gentlemen, but it appears that we are far off course. We will inform you of the details as soon as we establish our location vis-à-vis the galactic core.”

At which instant, she would turn, reach into her sash, and pull the small dagger from its hidden sheath. If she were fast enough, she would punch it into Cinque’s side. Dance away. And hope that the poison would immobilize the big man before he could grab hold of her. If he got to her before the poison put him down, he’d snap her neck like it was a glass rod.

Then—assuming she survived long enough to escape the observation blister—she only had Chad and Bartolome to deal with. Each was just as intimidating in his own way. But then, none of the families that controlled The Corporation demonstrated scruples when it came to power.

The worst part for Falise was having to share the blister with the Suharto agent. She would rather have had the observation blister to herself. Endured the wait without an audience, let alone one as formidable as Cinque.

He kept glancing at her; his marble-black eyes almost creep-freaked her. Genetically engineered—just like hers—they had no visible pupil or iris, and even the sclera was black. They came off as inhuman, alien, and unnerving. Which was the whole point.

Goaded to say something, Falise noted, “Having been to the Capella system, you would think that Abibi’s people could verify our location instantaneously.”

The longer they waited, the more desperate she was becoming. Not only over whether she was doomed, but if she should kill Cinque. With each passing minute, the terror increased. They were lost. Adrift in space. With no chance of rescue.

I will die here. In this ship. Alone. Abandoned.

As that reality sank in, she shifted, crossed her arms so that she could place her right hand beside the hidden sheath.

If we had arrived in the Capella system, Abibi’s people would have already announced it.