I matched his smile. “Yes, and we’ll be returning home soon.”
Costa tilted his head. “And where is home?”
“Great Britain,” Roman answered without hesitation.
I nodded, pressing the lie further. “I’m sure the Queen will want to see us again. Imagine how distressed she’ll be if I arrive at court without the necklace she gifted me.”
Costa narrowed his eyes, studying Roman and me like a predator sizing up prey. Then, he licked his lips. “By all means, then. Let’s see if your necklace has been recovered.”
Roman and I exchanged a fleeting, uneasy glance before falling in step behind him.
Montego sauntered beside Costa, engaging him in idle conversation.
We crossed the courtyard—still intact despite the devastation—and entered the villa.
The moment we stepped inside, the stench hit me. Rotting bodies. Charred wood. The rancid mix clogged my throat. I gripped Roman’s arm, pressing my hand over my mouth to keep from gagging.
How the men moved through this horror so calmly was beyond me.
We trekked deeper inside, the burned remnants of the estate looming to our right.
Costa led us upstairs, his boots clicking against the marble floors.
Where was it? My pulse thundered as my eyes darted around his office, scanning every surface, searching.
Costa, ever the host, made a show of his surroundings. “You have many interesting illustrations here, Count Costa,” I noted, gripping a Belladonna sketch.
His gaze slithered to me. “Do I?”
“Yes.” I traced the elegant ink strokes. “Do you have an interest in gardening?”
Costa’s smirk was serpentine. “Plant life has always fascinated me.”
A shiver danced down my spine.
With a flourish, he stooped, retrieving a small wooden chest. “I’ve stored the recovered jewels here.” He procured a key from his pocket and slid it into the lock. With a quiet click, the lid lifted, revealing a trove of glittering treasures. “Do you see your necklace?”
I sifted through the fine pieces, my fingers gliding over cold gemstones until I spotted an emerald and diamond necklace. “Yes, I believe this is mine.”
Costa’s eyelids lowered.
Then, he unsheathed a dagger from his belt.
Oh, shit. Oh, shit, oh, shit.
My dagger.
I kept my expression smooth, but my heart pounded so violently I was sure he could hear it.
Costa, watching me like a hawk, slid the blade’s deadly tip into the wooden chest, hooking the necklace on its sharp edge.
He lifted it toward me, the dagger gleaming as the emeralds dangled from its tip. “This one?”
I forced my fingers to steady as I plucked the necklace free. “Yes, that’s certainly mine.”
“Pity,” Costa mused. “I had hoped to keep this piece.”
He ran his fingers over the dagger’s hilt in a reverent motion.
