I was pulsing with defiance. And desire.
The moment he closed the door, I heard the distinctsnickof a lock sliding into place.
I froze.
The sound jolted something deep within me—something buried in my past. That same cold click from years ago, when my adoptive father locked me in my room to punish me for things I never understood.
I clenched my fists. My jaw. My thighs.
“Of course,” I growled under my breath. “A locked door. How original.”
But then I smiled. Darkly.
“Oh, well. In less than a week, I’ll be long gone.”
I wandered to the window, staring out at the estate grounds. Moonlight kissed the tips of the hedges.
Let him search for me,I thought.Let him burn the world down trying to find me.
I pictured Balthazar’s face when he returned to the bloodycarnage we left behind, only to find me missing—vanished. Out of reach. Untouchable.
A laugh escaped my lips, hale and hearty, a sound unbecoming of a lady. But I wasn’t a lady anymore.
Everyone who had tried to tame me was dead.
And soon, I’d be beyond their reach.
Even Balthazar.
Maybe.
The following day, Signor Zampa delivered grim news with a quiet gravity.
“The community has been informed,” he said, slicing bread calmly as he prepared our modest supper. “The Tocino family’s murder has sent a ripple of fear through the city. No one knows who to trust anymore.”
He paused, gripping the knife and wiping his hands with a linen cloth.
“I told the Balìa who’s to blame,” he added. “Let them handle the savagery. I’m glad you came to me when you did, Lady Tocino. This is a tragedy… and I want you safe before the full moon rises.”
“Thank you, Signor,” I whispered, bowing my head as a tear slipped down my cheek. I dabbed it away with my handkerchief—delicate, practiced, convincing.
I hated the charade, but I wore it well.
Feigned grief had become second nature—a performance I delivered flawlessly.
Tears when needed. Quivers in my voice timed to perfection.
It was easier than dealing with the truth.
That I missed the man who had painted my family’s death in blood.
Two days later, I cloaked myself in black and melted into the shadows, slipping through alleyways and hugging the edges of buildings. I couldn’t afford to be seen.
The rumors had spread faster than fire through dry brush?—
That I had a hand in the murders.
That I was Balthazar’s accomplice. His mistress. His apprentice.
