Amira felt the cold air in her mouth. It was a negotiation, a scheduled execution.
—I am not a liquid active.
“You are my heir.” His eyes, clouded by illness, met hers with a desperate clarity. “Heiresses do not possess the luxury of romanticism.”
They had the duty to survive. The Alsaba family offered their three children.
I am the only powerful force capable of silencing bureaucrats and protecting your name. Choose today.
Amira swallowed.
“Three?” he asked, even though he already knew the answer.
“Khalil, Amar, or Zafir.” Doï Hassaï closed his eyes for a second, exhausted. “The peacock, the glutton, or the mobster. It’s all the same to me. Just… make sure that tomorrow the sky rises above the towers that still belong to you.”
Amira left the bedroom with the feeling that she had just signed a part of her soul, even though she had touched a little piece.
The ballroom of the Seve Star Hotel, owned by Salgado, shone like an open jewel.
