Scenario two: He and Diana could take out the three policemen. There was a thirty percent chance of stray gunshots. And a greater chance the gun itself would go astray.
“Ian.”
He glanced down at Diana. She’d lost her feathered mask in the tumble, and her hair hung in knots as it framed her face. Her expression was so open now, he could easily read her fear and affection.
It was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.
He brushed his lips against hers. “I’ll find you.”
She made an unintelligible protesting noise. He forced himself to shut it out as he slowly sank to his knees.
He never thought Diana would dart for the closest gun.
Gunshots echoed around them.
By the time he registered the noise, he found himself face down on the floor, a sharp boot buried in his neck and his hands bound in cuffs.
As he fought to get a glimpse of Diana, he could only see whirling waves of scarlet silk.
The throbbing pain in her arm woke Diana from a stupor.
She found herself on a narrow bed and struggled into a seated position. With one finger, she probed the screaming wound in her arm. Thankfully, there were no signs of a bullet lodged in it.
It took a concerted effort to stagger to her feet and examine her surroundings. The small room was a nun’s cell, designed to avoid anything that would distract from reflection and prayer, including a window. The only adornment was an ebony crucifix hanging on the whitewashed wall. Unfortunately, not a viable weapon: the thing was fixed with metal screws and she would have struggled to rip it off the wall with two good arms.
She rattled her head to clear her fogged-in brain and recalled the chaos ofIl Gioco. When Ian had bowed down on the ground before the police, it had sent her into a blind panic. She’d swiped the revolver from the unsuspecting policeman, but someone had knocked the gun out of her hand. There’d been a burning pain before a Stag enforcer smothered her mouth and nose with a cloth, and she’d blacked out.
A church clock tower somewhere nearby chimed five bells. She wished to hell she knew how long she’d been out, and if it was day or evening. Her dress was in tatters and the scent coming from her was far from fresh; she could have been lying there for days.
Two sets of footsteps sounded from the hallway outside. Diana sank down onto the bed and held her spine in a position so straight it would have made everysingle one of her governesses proud. She attempted to wrestle her hair into a plait, but the burning in her injured arm stopped her.
She shook out the rest of her knotted locks and dabbed at the sticky film of blood and dirt on her cheek, spreading it across her face. Then she tore at the unraveling neckline of her gown to expose her corset cover, and the remnants of the leather harness, which had shredded in her dive from the balcony.
When that door opened, they would find her utterly decomposed. A proper mess. Nothing her mother wanted in a daughter.
Diana suddenly felt as powerful as an Amazon warrior.
As Widow strode into the room with Birdie, it was impossible to tell if it was her dishevelment that stunned Widow, or if her mother’s disapproving frown was related to the fact that her own daughter had tried to entrap her. Her mother’s scrutiny made Diana want to laugh and also smash something to pieces. She ached for one caustic word. One sneer, to justify the vitriol she was ready to unleash.
“Thepoliziawant you for questioning,” Widow said without preamble.
“I’m not the only one.” The ice in Diana’s voice echoed her mother’s tone. “Although you’ve outdone me, Mama. Authorities in three countries are eager to speak with you.”
When Birdie placed a hand on her pistol, her mother shook her head once and gestured for Diana’s former crew hand to step outside.
The absence of an audience didn’t soften her mother’s glare. “I’m disappointed.”
Diana’s laugh was sharp. “Good.”
Widow struck her face before she could blink; it stung nearly as much as the bullet wound.
“Grow up, Diana. After all this time, you cannot still cling to some notion that you can have everything you want.”
“I want to help people. To trust the only family I have left. But you’ve twisted the mission I dedicated my life to into something destructive and violent.”
“Don’t be such a naive fool. The only way to rid the earth of dangerous men is to do it in the language they speak. With brutality and bloodshed.”
Her perfunctory rationalization of harm made Diana fight off a tremble.