“Yeah, I'm here?—”
“There’s been an attack.”
I freeze. “What?”
"Someone hit the Marchetti place. The carriage house went up like a bomb. Felicity Marchetti is in hospital.”
30
DOVE
They’re sayingit was a gas leak.
Right.
I wrap my arms around myself against the chill of the hospital’s air-conditioning. A little way down the hall Bane is talking quietly in a small group: a guy called Sergey who works for him, Nikolai, two of my dad’s top underbosses, and my father himself.
I don’t trust myself to look in their direction. I worry they’ll see the guilt written in neon all over my goddamn face, even though I don’t know if I should be feeling it.
It wasn’t me.
It couldn’t have been.
A darker, more vicious, possibly more truthful voice snarls inside me.
Yes, it could.
I wasthere. I was at the carriage house less than two hours before it exploded.
Felicity’s alive, at least. And awake, and doing okay. And as much as I hate that fucking dog, I'm relieved that Chanel is fine, too.
No one was killed.
I cringe as I say it over and over in my head, trying to assuage the guilt.
There's a small tap on my arm. Turning with a jump, I find myself face to face with Chiara.
“What are you doing here?”
She smirks. “Hey, literallyanyexcuse to get hell out of New Jersey and away from beingMrs. Ferrari.” She shrugs. “Plus, I guess even wicked stepmothers deserve a minute of face time after they get blown halfway to Connecticut.”
I bite back the grin that almost peeks out. Not because I’m worried about being insensitive to Felicity’s accident.
…But because I’m l not sure ifI caused it. If I did, that’s no accident.
It’s attempted murder.
“Dad said she’s going to be fine.” Chiara pouts. “Guess my birthday wish last year didn't come true.”
When I bite back another trying-not-to-look-guilty smile, Chiara sighs.
“C’mon.” She winks at me. “It’s funny. Not like she died or anything.” She giggles. “Heard her eyebrows are gone, though. Bonus!”
This time, Idogrin. A little.
“So, how’s married life?”
I smile, and my face heats.
