I glance down at the shot bodyguards at my feet. Maybe Cesare knew how nuts she was. Maybe that was part of the appeal in fucking her off and on for years, all the while hinting that she might be getting a mafia-level wedding ring at some point.
Regardless, I’d bet money that the explosion that took out the carriage house and almost incinerated thecurrentMrs. Marchetti was Melinda’s work.
I do a sweep of the first floor, my gun in hand, my senses straining. The second I step into Cesare’s home office?—
Fuck.
Lark’s father is dead, the gaping close-range gunshot wound to his chest still leaking blood all over the couch.
Looks like Melindadefinitelyisn’t getting that wedding ring now. But that just makes her even more dangerous to Lark right now.
Because with Cesare dead, Melinda has nothing to lose.
I continue with my sweep. The bullet hole in the door to the office stops me, but it’s the footprints in blood on the hardwood floor that have my full attention.
Twosets of footprints.
Lark’s alive. At least, she was recently.
I follow the footprints down the hall, through the library, and into the kitchen out back…
Right to the open door of the staircase that leads down to the garden apartment.
I leave my shoes upstairs and tiptoe down the dark staircase into Melinda’s apartment. The kitchen with the view out to the backyard is clear. So is the living room.
I hear water running.
I peer down the hall toward Lark’s old room, where the sound is coming from.
Every nerve jangles as I move silently down the hall and pause against the wall just outside her room. Then I spin, as if to sweep the room with my gun. When I do, my gaze stabs through the bedroom and the open door to the ensuite bathroom.
No.
Holy fucking mother of God NO.
Lark’s lying in the clawfoot bathtub, fully clothed, her eyes half-shut and rolled back, her arms draped over the sides of the tub which is filling with water.
She looks dead.
Fucking.Dead.
“LARK!!”
I ignore all reason, forget any sense of self-preservation.
All I see is the woman I love, lying dead in a bathtub, and Iexplode.
“LARK!!!”
I scream her name as I bolt into the bedroom. Instantly, a blade pierces into my back. I choke as searing pain stabs through me, blood spitting from my mouth as my legs give out.
The gun falls from my hand. The knife in my back twists, ripping a gurgled roar from my throat.
No.
I drop to my knees, choking, my mouth suddenly flooded with copper. I look down, shocked to see the sheer amount of blood pouring from my mouth and to the floor.
That’s when my vision starts to dim.
