Page 130

My heart hammers in my chest, and blood pounds in my head. She shouldn’t be here—not unless Marco sent for her. She’s my brother’s favorite; she wouldn’t⁠—

A terrible realization dawns on me.

“You’re a Scipione.”

It’s another slap. She wasn’t a trapped woman, like me. She wasn’t forced to do anything, at least not outwardly. Rosa might have spoken to me like a child, but she was a comfort in that home. Another person who had little freedom.

It was all lies.

She crosses her arms, brown eyes hard.

“Does my brother know?”

She scoffs, “Your brother was too easy to manipulate. He enjoyed being in control, but behind the scenes?” Rosa shakes her head. “Easy.”

“Marco put you there for what? Watch me?”

“To make sure your brother didn’t sell you to someone else.”

It’s so simple. Watch me and report back. It doesn’t matter that I’m human. It only matters that she did her job.

“You knew I was talking to Briar.”

Rosa steps close, picking up the discarded nightgown. “Who do you think put that camera in your room? Once the feed was cut, we had to act. And your brother was useless.” She throws it at me. “You’re a Scipione, not an O’Brien. Put it on.”

I clutch the fabric to my chest. “You set up the branding.”

She shrugs, point moot. “We had to claim you before he did.”

A laugh bubbles up from my lips. Soon, I’m doubled over, chuckling at the absurdity of this entire night. At my life. At what she thinks is true. Rosa cocks her head, confused.

“That’s where you’re wrong,” I inform her. Stepping back, I wrap my hand around the shard of glass, palm cutting on the edge, and I drop the gown. “Briar claimed me the night we met. He touched me as if he owned me—and he did. He’s owned my heart since we were nothing but thoughts and stardust in the sky. Our fates were destined to intertwine, and I was always destined to be his. Never a Scipione.”

Rosa sighs tiredly. “You naive girl. You do not know how this life—how love—works. Fate has little to do with it.”

She slips a phone from her top, clicking the screen. Turning it toward me, she sneers, “You think you’re an O’Brien? What happens when your husband is dead? Still think they’d keep you?”

On the small screen, a camera zooms in, as if from a rooftop. I watch as Maeve, Killian, and Alessio hover over Briar’s limp body. More bodies lie around them, at least half a dozen. They’ve been fighting, but I don’t focus on that.

There’s blood pooling under Briar, and Maeve is gripping his arm.

I can’t take a full breath; my eyes see what my mind won’t comprehend. My lungs stop working. Vomit taints my tongue. He can’t be⁠—

“You’re lying,” I sputter, throat tight. “Briar isn’t… he’s not⁠—”

“Dead?” She smirks. “We’re getting confirmation right now. But it looks that way.”

The room tilts, balance gone. I stumble back against the headboard.

They had a plan—they were going to take out the hits. We were going to be free.

“You,” I hiss. “You controlled the bounty.”

Rosa has the gall to smile, ending the livestream. “There’s a lot you don’t know about the O’Brien clan, Valentina. When Briar attacked Ferguson, he signed his own death warrant. The old man reached out to people outside of the city and asked for help to dispose of his son.”

“Why not do it himself?” My hand rubs my sternum. My heart’s been ripped away, thrown into the street, and crushed between a tire while I look on.

Rosa sways closer, smirking. “The O’Brien clan used to be run by a Board. They had strict familial rules. If they knew he was putting a hit out on his blood, they’d destroy him. And he couldn’t rely on anyone in the city to do the hit and not turn him in. No, he had to think outside these walls and find another player.”