In the plane, Damian sat beside Racheal in their private suite, a quiet enclosed space with wide leather seats that reclined into a bed, dim ambient lighting, and a large window that stretched across the wall, offering an uninterrupted view of the sky beyond.
Racheal had her headphones on, listening to music as she stared out the window, her reflection faint against the endless stretch of clouds. On the other hand, Damian focused on the tablet in his hands, going through the information her subordinates had gathered on the buyers.
On paper, they were nothing more than a wealthy family with deep political ties, known for dealing in rare artifacts and historical art. But beneath that polished image lay something far more unsettling. They were members of a cult known as Los Hijos del Angelito Negro, which translated directly to The Children of the Black Angel.
Rumors surrounding them were disturbing.
