Chapter 28
Olivia
“Are you sure you left the dagger at Costa’s?” Roman asked as I paced the bedroom, my stomach a nest of writhing snakes.
“One hundred percent,” I said—then hesitated. “Okay, seventy-five percent. Maybe less. It’s all a blur. But that’s where it should be. Unless—fuck!”
“Amore mio, breathe.” Roman swung his legs over the bed, watching me.
“Breathe? I lost my dagger, Roman. What if someone like Costa found it? I’m doomed!” My arms flailed as panic swirled in my chest.
“Olivia.” Roman’s tone sharpened.
I snapped to face him. “What?”
“We follow the steps. Start at Malik’s, then take it from there. Okay?”
He was right. Freaking out wouldn’t help. But the slight crease at the corners of his eyes betrayed his worry.
“Oh, Roman… what if it’s gone for good?”
He stepped closer, gripping my arms, grounding me. “We don’t know that yet. One step at a time.”
I inhaled, latching onto his composure. “Okay. Malik’s first.”
Without another word, we dressed.
Downstairs, the estate was eerily quiet, save for the distant clatter of kitchen sounds.
I followed Roman through the dining room, my pulse hammering, until we reached the large kitchen at the back of the house, where Beatrice stood at the counter, methodically choppingvegetables.
She paused when she saw us. “Good evening, Mr. and Mrs. Alexander. Did you sleep well?”
“Sì, sì, grazie,” Roman replied smoothly before asking where Count Montego was.
Beatrice resumed her chopping. “I don’t know. He left some time ago but should return shortly for his evening meal.”
Roman nodded. “Mrs. Alexander and I are heading out on an errand. Please inform him.”
“Sì, sì.” Beatrice scooped the diced vegetables into her hands and dropped them into a simmering pot.
Without further delay, Roman and I slipped through the kitchen’s back door and strode toward the stables.
We selected two swift, young horses and rode hard, reaching Malik’s estate in record time.
Roman handed the lathered horses off to the groomsmen as I bolted inside.
“Anybody home?” I shouted the moment I crossed the threshold.
“In the dining room,” Malik’s voice carried back.
I rushed through the foyer and past the living room, stopping short at the sight before me—Malik and Rosie seated at the dining table, sipping tea as if they were a picture of domestic bliss.
A cozy family setting.
Except we weren’t a cozy family. We were a band of misfits with freakish abilities.
Malik set his teacup down with a clatter. “Are you in danger? What’s going on?” His tone was calm, but his dark gaze was assessing.
