“My head isn’t anywhere,” she retorted.
Kane’s laugh was silent. “Do you regret the kiss, Zaria?”
Zaria, this time. NotMiss Mendoza. “Of course I regret it. Don’t you?”
There was a beat of quiet. She wondered if she’d offended him or whether he was merely considering her question. Eventually, he said, “Not for the reasons you might think.”
“Well, that clears everything up.”
He leaned closer, his next words released on a breath. “I like the way you’re so determined to hate me even when your body betrays you. It makes things so very interesting.”
Cocky bastard. Zaria made a humming sound in the back of her throat, allowing herself to soften into him. She heard his sharpinhalation as she broughtherlips tohisear. “The only one betraying themselves here, Kane Durante, is you.”
He backed away, knowing at once what she was referring to. A laugh rumbled in his chest. There wasn’t a hint of embarrassment in his voice as he said, “Unyielding as always.”
She ignored that, yanking the edge of the curtain aside to reveal the pianoforte. “Eyes on the prize.”
KANE
KANE COULD SCARCELY REMEMBER FEELING MORE CONFLICTINGemotions than he did right now. Zaria Mendoza drove him mad in so many ways. In another world, he might have spent the rest of his life following her just to see what she would do next.
But in this world, in less than half an hour, she would never speak to him again. He’d be lucky if she didn’t try to kill him.
“Okay,” he said to Zaria now. “I’ll prop the back of the pianoforte up, and you check inside.” Kane put a hand to the gun at his waist. The parautoptic key was just above the weapon, stowed safely within the lining of his coat.
Zaria nodded, expression solemn, and Kane slipped out from behind the curtain.
The pianoforte was only a few steps away, sleek and beautiful. Nobody appeared to be paying attention to him—not yet—but his heart rate kicked up a notch regardless. All around him, countlessvoices formed a veritable wave of sound, and a few meters away the exhibitor was still in conversation with Jules. All Kane’s senses sharpened. This was it.
He beckoned Zaria out of the shadows, then wrapped his hands around the top of the instrument and pushed it open. He’d nearly forgotten how heavy it was. He didn’t dare look out at the crowd, afraid that if he met someone’s gaze, it might give him away. They weresupposedto be here, he and Zaria, and he repeated that mantra a half-dozen times before she peered up at him from around the pianoforte, eyes wide and horrified.
“There’s nothing in here.”
Kane took a steadying inhale. “Okay.”
She gaped. “What do you mean,okay? Not a single thing about this is okay. Are you sure this is the right piano?”
Was hesure? Of course he was sure. They’d dragged it through the streets, for God’s sake. Kane would know it anywhere.
“Get over here,” he snapped, scouring the area over his shoulder. Mercifully, the exhibitor was still turned away from them. Zaria scooted over to where Kane stood, and he motioned for her to replace his grip with her own. She did so, grunting slightly, and he took the opportunity to peer inside the pianoforte.
Zaria was right. There was nothing in there. Nothing but the dampers surrounded by rows of delicate strings.
Thank goodness.
Indicating for Zaria to transfer the top of the pianoforte back to him, Kane let it slam shut. The sound was deafening.
Zaria looked like a cornered animal. Her face was as white as bone. A number of patrons in the vicinity turned, as did the exhibitor. He broke away from Jules, adjusting his scarlet coat, and stalked toward them.
“Sir, please stepawayfrom the pianoforte!” the exhibitor implored, wringing his hands. Jules trailed along behind the man, his eyes full of panic.
“My apologies,” Kane said calmly. “I only wanted to take a closer look before my performance. Anton Mikhailov.” He thrust out a hand before gesturing to Zaria. “And this is Catharina Ivanova, my assistant. I’ve come to showcase the unmatched tone of the Broadwood. We intended to approach you first, but you were otherwise occupied.”
The man gaped before appearing to gather himself, shaking Kane’s hand. “Miss Ivanova and Mister Mikhailov, is it? I didn’t think the Russians had made it to London. Seems to me I was told their vessels got stuck in the ice.”
Zaria scoffed loudly enough that Jules started. “You can have a Russian surname without beingfromRussia, you fool. You offend us both. Now, is this performance going ahead or not?”
Kane worked to hide his bemusement. Regardless of how she might hate it, Zariadidwork best when she was forced to improvise. She was surprisingly effective under sudden pressure. That, and he hadn’t wanted to give too much of his plan away. His conversation with Ward kept replaying in his mind, and he couldn’t forget the pure distrust on the kingpin’s face whenever he’d spoken Zaria’s name.
