Costa’s eyes burned with rage. “Balthazar wants to destroy my life, but I will kill him.”
Montego tilted his head. “So, you believe he’s responsible? I left before things unraveled.”
Costa smirked, the expression laced with something smug. “We all know where you were, Montego—snugly sandwiched between two or more of my female guests. I heard the moans when I walked by.”
Montego didn’t flinch. His only response was smooth, “I had a good time at the party. Shame it ended the way it did.”
My brain stuttered. A threesome? A foursome? I glanced at Montego, but he remained as composed as ever, as if debauchery was just another day’s work.
Costa’s gaze slid to me, Roman, an assessing leer.
“And who do we have here?”
His stare dragged over me with an unsettling, predatory gleam.
Montego, ever the showman, gestured grandly. “My companions, Roman and Olivia Alexander.”
Costa’s lips curved into something vile. “Incantato.”
Delighted.
He took my hand, lifting it to his mouth. It was all I could do not to rip it away.
Montego intervened smoothly. “Olivia lost a necklace here the other night. She was in attendance at the masquerade.”
Costa didn’t let go. Instead, his fingers lingered, pressing too firmly, his grip a silent threat.
“Was she?” Costa’s voice oozed amusement. “A pity I didn’t get to partake.”
A slithering revulsion crawled up my spine. My smile was ice—cold, brittle, and empty.
Beside me, Roman simmered with barely controlled rage.
Costa’s dark gaze skewered me. “How did you make it out alive?”
“We rushed to Montego’s waiting carriage,” Roman said, stepping forward. His presence was solid and unwavering. He removed my hand from Costa’s grip with quiet force.
Costa sneered. “The gods must love you.”
Montego, ever the diplomat, smoothly interjected. “Olivia believes she lost a necklace at the party. Have you come across any misplaced jewelry?”
Costa studied me, his expression unreadable but calculating. “You lost a necklace, you say?”
“Yes,” I murmured, watching my husband’s profile as he kept himself in check. “It was a gift from Queen Elizabeth.”
Costa’s lips curled in condescension. “The Queen, you say? And how is Her Royal Highness?”
I shrugged, forcing an air of casual confidence as I sifted through my memory for details. “She fears the French plan to invade England and put her Catholic cousin, Mary, Queen of Scots, on the throne. She worries so.”
I met Costa’s gaze head-on, letting him see the challenge in my eyes. Thank you, high-school history.
His smirk faltered and was replaced by annoyance. He had hoped to catch me in a lie. Instead, I had thrown his test back at him.
His gaze darkened. “What brings you to Italy?”
Roman’s grip on my hand tightened ever so slightly. “My wife and I are explorers. We travel the world in search of notable artifacts.”
He tucked my hand into the crook of his elbow and smiled at me.
