Kara exhaled slowly. "So we should be safe then."
"Unless the Bellantes look up the company and see whose names are attached to it," Cam said, her voice flat. "All of our names."
Alex scoffed, waving a manicured hand. "I don't think Lorenzo is doing much googling these days, Cam."
Something cold slithered down my spine. There it was again. That dismissiveness. Just like in the kitchen when she'd brushed off concerns about the cameras. Alex didn’t take the threat seriously. Her blind spot wasn't just big when it came to her family; it was catastrophic.
"But he's not the only member of your family, Alex," I said, trying to keep my voice level.
She leaned back against the window frame, arms crossed. "Doesn't matter. No one would suspect me."
"You can't know that." I leaned forward, willing her to understand.
Alex smiled, the kind of smile that belonged on magazine covers and charity galas. "Yes, I can. I'm the baby. The Bellante princess." She tossed her hair over one shoulder. "I'd be just about thelastperson Lorenzo would suspect."
The confidence in her voice made my stomach turn. Three people were dead. Her cousin. Her mother’s hairdresser. Sabine’s editor. And Alex sat there thinking she was untouchable, like her family's violence was something that happened to other people. Never to princesses.
"But it's not just Lorenzo we're talking about," Kara said, her voice tight with the same frustration I felt building in my chest.
Alex waved a dismissive hand. "The Scorpions move on Lorenzo's command."
"And Lorenzo moves on Matteo's command," Cam added quietly.
Alex rolled her eyes, tossing her perfect hair over one shoulder. "Well, my daddy certainly wouldn't think his princess would betray him."
My fingers tightened around my mug. The way she said "daddy"—like she was playing a role in some mafia movie. The certainty in her voice. The eye roll. It was all so practiced, so performative.
She was toosmart for this.
She believed her own cover story too much. That was the problem. She'd been the Bellante princess for so long she'd forgotten that part was supposed to be the act. And that made her dangerous. To us. To Sabine.
My tea had gone cold. The mug felt heavy in my hands, anchoring me when all I wanted to do was scream. Sabine was somewhere, destroyed by grief and betrayal. And Alex sat there smiling like she was at one of her charity galas. It felt surreal.
I couldn't listen to this anymore. The arrogance. The casual dismissal of the danger we were all in. The complete lack of understanding of what Sabine had lost. The Alex I knew was not this obtuse, but I lacked the patience to draw out whatever was wrong.
I stood abruptly, the cushion next to me tumbling to the carpet. The others looked up, startled by the sudden movement. I gathered my mug, needing something to occupy my hands before I did something I'd regret. Like grab Alex and shake her until she understood what was at stake.
"I need some air," I muttered, not meeting anyone's eyes. The walls of the room felt like they were closing in. I needed space. Needed to breathe. Needed to be anywhere but here, listening to Alex pretend everything was fine when our world was falling apart.
I stalked to the kitchen, my fingers clenched so tight around my mug I feared the ceramic might crack. Their voices followed me.
I set my mug in the sink and turned on the water. The steady stream hitting porcelain drowned out my thoughts for a blessed moment. I closed my eyes, focusing on the cool water running over my hands.
"Process of elimination," Kara was saying, her words drifting in from the living room.
"Rocco might," Cam replied, her voice too low for me to catch the rest.
Alex's voice cut through clearly: "Nobody suspects me."
I shut off the water with more force than necessary. Her overconfidence would get us all killed. Sabine had every right to be furious. We had failed her with the cameras, with Mark's death, and now Alex wouldn't even acknowledge the danger we were in.
I listened for movement upstairs but heard nothing. No creaking floorboards, no footsteps. Sabine must have found somewhere downstairs to hide from us all.
I couldn't blame her. But I couldn't leave her alone with her grief either.
I moved through the great room like a ghost, my footsteps barely disturbing the silence. The house felt cavernous, each shadow a potential hiding place. The solarium door stood ajar, a sliver of darkness beyond. As I approached, humid warmth spilled out to meet me, carrying the rich scent of jasmine and damp earth.
I peered around the doorframe, careful not to make any sudden movements. The darkness inside was nearly complete, broken only by silver moonlight filtering through the glass ceiling.
