I stiffened. “Which is what, exactly? What do you want with her? Why go to all this trouble?”
Cassian shrugged. “I can’t ask questions. You can. They don’t let women in, as you’ve noticed—but she’s good. Vital, actually. For your progress. Your infiltration.” His mouth curved. “And believe me, you’ll need us once Dante’s dead.”
I turned fully toward him. “What do you mean?”
He laughed. “You’ll have a price on your head. So will she—marriage makes it convenient. The moment you pull that trigger, your only hope of survival will be the Vescovis.”
“And you,” I said flatly.
“And me,” he agreed, smiling. “See? I set you up for success.”
I shook my head. “Sounds more like you’re having us do your dirty work while keeping your hands clean.”
“That too,” he said easily. “But I like you. I like her. I’m giving you vengeance—and fulfilling her purpose.”
My blood ran cold.
“She doesn’t know,” he continued. “She thinks what she’s fighting for matters. In the end, she’s just a pawn. One I used beautifully to get you into the game.”
I clenched my jaw.
“You married her,” he said. “Now you have access to Dante. Perfect positioning. She believes she’s doing me a favor by letting you in, and I’m holding a very small piece of intel over her head.” He lifted his glass. “Everyone walks away thinking they won.”
I took my drink back and drained it.
“I like her.”
Cassian froze. “What do you mean you like her?”
I stared into the empty glass. “She’s different. I barely know her, but I like her. She’s not soft—but she wants to be. I don’t even know if that makes sense.” My voice dropped. “She’s already a mess. She’ll be worse if her dad dies.”
Cassian snorted. “If?” He leaned closer. “No. That’swhen. You don’t walk away from this without pulling the trigger. Think of it this way—she should be grateful it’s you and not someone else.” His smile sharpened. “What a gift, right?”
19
TEMPEST
Justice must prevail, even if all the villains in the world perish. — Immanuel Kant
Iknew he was home—not because the lights were on, but because they weren’t.
The house looked hollow. Depressed. Like it was holding its breath right along with me.
The door was unlocked. Untouched, like he was silently inviting me in.
I stepped inside and found him on the couch, seated in front of the fireplace, flames snapping low and uneven. He stared into it like it had answers, a glass of wine hanging loose in his hand.
There was a gun resting on his right thigh.
My breath caught.
Was the safety on?
He didn’t look at me. Didn’t acknowledge the door closing behind me. Just sat there, still as stone, firelight carving sharp shadows across his face.
Whatever happened tonight had followed him home.
And for the first time since marrying Louis De Lange, I wondered if the danger I’d been trained to survive was already sitting in my living room.