Chapter 2

Julian Moretti has looked better.

Seven years ago, for example.

Before he tried to force me into his car outside Blackthorn.

He'd been drunk.

Twenty-something and convinced the Moretti name meant no woman was allowed to tell him no.

I told him no anyway.

He grabbed my arm.

A few hours later, the itching started.

By morning, it had turned into nerve pain so bad he couldn't sleep.

By the second day, he'd scratched his own skin bloody.

The Moretti doctors couldn't identify the cause.

Neither could the specialists they quietly brought in.

On the third day, his family came to Blackthorn.

Aldric took one look at him and knew exactly who'd done it.

He made Julian apologize before I prepared the antidote.

Julian has kept his hands to himself ever since.

Now he looks from my face to my empty wrist.

Then to the beads scattered across the floor.

Smart man.

I bend down and pick up the first bead.

Beatrice folds her arms.

"You're seriously doing this now?"

I pick up another.

"You broke them."

"They're pieces of wood."

"Yes."

"Then buy another set."

"Are you finished?"

"Excuse me?"

"Talking."

I close my fingers around the beads.

"Are you finished?"

Lillian steps forward.

"Elara, don't make this into something bigger than it is."

I turn toward her.

"Do you agree with her?"

Her eyes widen.

"About what?"

"That I should be grateful your family finally remembered I exist."

"I never said that."

"No."

"You let other people say it."

Several people nearby go quiet.

"I've done nothing but try to welcome you."

"Have you?"

"Why are you doing this?"

"Because you look afraid."

That lands.

"Why would I be afraid of you?"

"You've spent twenty-five years with my name, my parents, my place in that family."

I step closer.

"And now I'm standing here."

Her eyes fill immediately.

"I never asked for any of this."

"No."

I smile.

"But you seem very attached to keeping it."

A sharp sound cuts through the silence.

Julian's hand tightens around his glass.

Everyone turns.

Sweat has appeared along his hairline.

Beatrice notices.

"Julian?"

He doesn't answer.

I decide to help.

"Julian."

His hand jerks.

The glass slips from his fingers.

It shatters against the marble.

Conversation across the ballroom dies.

Beatrice stares at him.

"Do you know her?"

Julian says nothing.

A deeper voice comes from behind him.

"What's going on?"

People move aside.

Don Vittorio Moretti stands at the center of the room.

He doesn't need to raise his voice.

Men who order killings for him go quiet without being asked.

Isabella Moretti stands beside him.

A few feet away is Adrian, the son everyone now expects to take Vittorio's chair one day.

Vittorio's eyes move from Julian's broken glass to me.

Then to Beatrice.

"Julian."

Julian wipes his palm against his suit.

"Nothing happened."

Vittorio looks unimpressed.

"Doesn't look like nothing."

Beatrice laughs nervously.

"We were only talking. Elara got upset because I accidentally broke her bracelet."

"Prayer beads," I correct.

She rolls her eyes.

Vittorio looks at Julian again.

"You know the Ashford girl?"

"No."

I almost laugh.

Julian was always terrible at lying.

I tilt my head.

He sees the movement.

His shoulders go rigid.

Vittorio notices.

"So you do know her."

Julian's mouth tightens.

"Julian."

The warning is clear.

Lillian is watching now.

So are Richard and Margaret Ashford.

Richard no longer looks embarrassed by me.

He looks confused.

Julian finally exhales.

"She's Blackthorn."

A man near the bar lowers his glass.

Someone behind Isabella stops whispering.

Vittorio's gaze sharpens.

"Blackthorn who?"

Julian looks at me.

He clearly hates what he's about to say.

"Elara."

Silence.

Then someone behind Lillian whispers,

"Elara from Blackthorn?"

Another voice answers.

"The toxicologist?"

Beatrice looks at me again.

This time, she isn't smiling.

I am.

Julian takes one step backward.

That makes me smile wider.