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And I know why it's so difficult for her.

"You don't have to say it," I murmur. "I already know."

True pain shoots through her eyes. "I do have to say it, Aurora. For so many reasons. To prove I'm not like my father—he never said it to me, not once in my whole life. And I need to be able to say it to prove to you—to myself—that I'm not…"

"You're not a monster."

She gives a little half-sob and pulls me closer, nestling my head into her shoulder. And then she says it, a whisper, a ghost.

"I love you, Aurora. I love you."

I smile. "I love you, too."

She lets out a long, shuddery sigh. There, I want to say. That wasn't so hard, was it?

But it was hard, so hard for her, and I don't want to diminish her strength in finally being able to say it.

So I just focus on her hand, stroking my hair, and let my eyes drift shut, lulled by her steady heartbeat.

She is more than the ruthless name she chose, more than death incarnate. A warm, beating heart is in there too, buried beneath the pain and the hurt.

With time, patience and care, just like I showed with the overgrown night garden, perhaps that heart can flower again.

CHAPTER 17

Hadria

Another Syndicate member killed.

Another meeting scheduled.

And I know I'll face another fraught discussion about what I, personally, plan to do about my brother, to stop him picking us off.

The only good thing about the meeting tonight is that Aurora won't be present. Earlier I went to find her, to let her know there had been another murder and therefore another meeting, but I found her sleeping soundly still in my bed. Her body clock is all over the place since she got back, and I didn't want to disturb her; she looked like Sleeping Beauty lying there with her curls tumbling brown and wheat across the silk pillowcases.

Tony isn't here tonight, either, which is strange. He doesn't usually miss a trick. And given the news I've had to deliver about another killing, there's a part of me that wonders if he hasn't found himself on the wrong end of a knife, too. So I'm actually relieved when, halfway through my speech about what's happened, Tony storms in, face set.

And in his hand, clutched like a live grenade, his cell phone.

No one brings their phone into the war room. It's one of our firmest rules. But Tony is brandishing his defiantly as he advances on the table.

Lyssa's eyes narrow to dangerous slits. "You know the protocol, Tony," she snaps. "No phones during meetings. Now get that damned thing out of here before I take it off you myself."

Tony doesn't so much as blink, his jaw set stubbornly. He slams the phone down on the table with an ominous thwack. "Everyone needs to hear what I've got here. Including you, Lyssa. Unless…maybe you knew already?"

A warning prickle runs down my spine at his words. Whatever is on that phone, it won't be good. My mind races, trying to anticipate what's coming. But I come up empty.

Tony taps the phone's screen sharply, then cranks the volume to full. Tinny speakers broadcast the unmistakable sound of my own voice, followed by my father's. I recognize this conversation immediately, and my stomach drops.

My father's voice rings out, setting the terms for Aurora's return.

Let me be clear. You will renounce all claims to the Imperioli Family and dissolve your silly Syndicate. Then, and only then, will I return Aurora to you, assuming you keep your word.

And my past self's reply: I will renounce my claim to the Family and dismantle the Syndicate.

The discussion goes on, but the damage has already been done in those few words I spoke. When the recording ends, there's nothing but silence.

So the old bastard recorded us that night. I should have known he was biding his time with this information, waiting until it would cause the most damage.