I bristled. “No, of course not. I’m not an idiot.”
Still, my mind reeled, scrambling for a plan.
Malik leaned back. “Then make up a lie. Something plausible.”
“Any suggestions?” I asked, tapping my fingers against my arm.
Before he could answer, a knock echoed from the front entrance.
Malik’s maid scurried past us, her slippers whispering over the floor as she hurried to the door.
A moment later, Count Montego stepped into the doorway, beaming.
“Count Montego,” Malik said, his gaze cool and assessing as he stood.
“Malik,” the count responded with a curt nod. “It’s been a long time.”
He crossed the room and extended a hand. Malik shook it, his expression unreadable.
“Too long,” Malik replied, sounding cryptic.
I watched the exchange closely; something about it set my nerves on edge. I was sure that there was more to their past than mere acquaintanceship.
The count turned to Roman. “I was passing by and wondered if you’ll stay here tonight. I could send for your things.”
“That won’t be necessary,” Roman said with an easy wave of his hand. “Olivia has lost something, and Malik doesn’t seem to have it. We thought to check with Count Costa.”
Montego cocked his head. “Oh? What did she lose?”
My fingers instinctively flew to my neck. “A necklace,” I blurted. “I got it from Queen Elizabeth.”
I prayed my Tudor history wasn’t held under scrutiny.
The count’s eyes widened. “A necklace from the Queen? My, my! I shall accompany you. I’d like to see how Costa is faring after the tragedy. He and I have been friends for a long time.”
“Excellent!” Malik said, already stepping back. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must spend time with Rosie.” With that, he disappeared down the hall.
Montego gestured toward the door. “I came by carriage. Ride with me.”
Outside, the horizon was ablaze with a breathtaking sunset, streaks of crimson and gold painting the sky. It was a stunning sight—one that felt disturbingly out of place, considering what lay ahead. Searching for my dagger under the dimming light would be less than ideal.
I climbed into the carriage, chewing on my nails as Roman and the count engaged in idle conversation. Roman, ever attuned to my distress, kept my hand in his, offering reassuring squeezes.
By the time we arrived at Costa’s estate, twilight had settled, casting long shadows over the wreckage.
The breathtaking sky overhead was a cruel contrast to the devastation before us.
Half of the villa was gone—obliterated. The other half barely stood, a wounded structure clinging to life. Bodies littered the ground, the metallic stench of blood thick in the air. Men hauled corpses into wagons while women fluttered about, closing the eyes of the dead and placing coins over their lids.
A shudder ran through me. The memory of the burning building, the screams, and the acrid smoke filled my mind with vivid clarity.
A group of men stood near the wreckage, engaged in heated discussion.
Costa was among them. He turned, his glower cruel.
“Count Montego,” Costa growled, sweeping a hand toward the smoldering wreckage. “Did you see what happened to my beautiful villa?”
“Yes, yes, such a tragedy,” Montego said, striding forward, his tone utterly detached.
