The Syndicate's Treason

In the deepest, quietest hours before the winter dawn, a treacherous calm hung over the snow-draped Palais von Roth. The blizzard had finally subsided into a drifting curtain of diamond frost, and the temperature had plummeted to twenty degrees below zero. In the master salon on the fourth floor, Vivienne lay curled on the velvet sofa wrapped in Julian's dark cashmere coat, watching the dying embers of the fireplace glow…