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My brothers jump into action, and I see all the exits are guarded at gunpoint.

I spin around and hold Ava by the shoulders. “What did you do?”

“He... He,” she says, lifting the knife, its blade still dripping.

“Give me that, love.” I gently take it from her, the handle sticky.

“He had a garrot, he tried to put it around my neck. It happened so fast.” She strokes a razor-thin slice on her neck, blood coating the column of her throat from her gory hands.

“Where? Here? With all of us around?” I ask, astonished.

Shane jogs up to us, his eyes right on the knife in my hands. “I still have access to the cameras. When we let everyone out, there were too many people. The crowd was thick as fuck. This dosser snuck in.”

He plays the video on his phone, and I watch in horror as a guy in a hat and black trench coat elbows people to get in as the others file out.

Luke’s doing. But I can’t blame him. We stayed past our welcome.

Once inside the ballroom, the dead guy had access to Ava the same as any guest. He got behind her and tried to strangle her so fucking fast, like she said. But she reacted even faster.

She yanked his arm, breaking it with one hand, and reached under her dress for the knife with the other. Within seconds and without any kind of hesitation or contemplation, she plunged the knife into the guy’s neck. The diamonds on the handle glittered from the crystal chandeliers above, the blade held expertly in her hand. The guy didn’t even have time to scream and possibly didn’t even see it coming.

“Pretty pathetic,” Connor says, sounding livid. “Nothing like abloodylast-ditch effort to kill the peace between us and the Greeks.”

“I’m so sorry,” Ava says, holding her middle.

“No.” I hold her face, not even concerned she’s covered in blood. “You did good. I’m so fucking proud of you.” I smash my lips against her mouth.

I’ve never wanted to fuck someone as much as I want to bang my wife. But I have to get her out of here, make sure she’s not in shock.

“Who the fuck did this, Shane?” Trace asks after taking his own photos of the guy under the sheet and going through his coat.

“Prints are coming up now,” my brother says, looking more concerned than I’ve seen him in a long time. “Wait. Crap. Get his wallet.”

Connor steps in and yanks something out of a zippered pocket inside the trench. “There’s only a passport.”

“Give it to me,” I say, reaching for it. When it’s shoved into my hand, I open it, my gut confirming the gnawing burden I’ve been carrying since we killed Brandon Keller.

Sure enough, this guy came from Mexico, where his mother fled to. She must have somehow known that Ava killed her son. Fuck, there must be a leak somewhere.

I hold up the stamp. “Get a team down there to deal with this, Connor.”

He balls his hands into tight fists. “Aye. Do we kill her?”

“Make a rock-solid connection that she orchestrated this. And then...” I stare at Ava. “What say you, my queen? This woman wants you dead? Do we let her live?”

She shudders a breath. “No.”

Connor, who’d been going through the rest of the hitman’s pockets, comes back with something he tore off the guy’s neck. A plastic woven choker with a talisman of some sort hanging like a charm. I study the dagger with a ruby-eyed snake wrapped around it.

“Have you seen this before?” I ask Shane.

“No.” He takes it. “But I’ll figure out what it means.”

“And make it clear on your rounds tonight, Connor,” I add. “I won’t tolerate any more dissent. Time is running out to bend the knee. I will level their homes and businesses.”

I can’t believe that woman was toiling away in Mexico plotting revenge for a son who was rotten to the core. And I let Ava traipse all over the city, even with Bourne, and sometimes Ace, too. She wasneverreally safe.

This dead guy got past our security. I stare out at all the guards wondering which one is going to die tonight.