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"Wait," I say slowly. "What do you mean?"

With a roll of her eyes, Lyssa says, "Look, she didn't want to make a big deal out of it, but you know that job that comes up every week at meetings, special protections?"

"Special protections is—watching Mrs. Graves?"

"Yep. And Mrs. G would be real pissed about it if she knew, so keep it to yourself, okay?"

"Okay." I can't help grinning. I should have known Hadria would already have thought of that. No matter how difficult things might be, I know Hadria will always protect the people she loves.

She can't help herself. She's built that way. Loyal, down to her bones, though she hates the idea.

"You won't change Hadria, you know." Lyssa's words jolt me from my thoughts. "And it's not a good idea to try. You think you're helping her by making her soft. You're only putting her—and you—in more danger. The Syndicate only respects strength."

I turn in surprise to meet Lyssa's eyes, rather like Hadria's in their intensity, though not color. "I don't know if that's true, Lyssa. I've seen the camaraderie among the Syndicate. Felt it, myself, with the training. Things could be different in the Syndicate, if Hadria let them change."

Lyssa makes a face. "Change sucks," she says bluntly.

I laugh. "Maybe. But it's inevitable."

She shrugs, face unreadable now. "Look, all I'm saying is, the way you make her seem soft...it'll only end badly. Yes, there are people in the Syndicate who care about her, about each other. The rest of them? They see that kind of bond as a weakness. So watch your back, Suzy. Not everyone who smiles at you is thinking happy thoughts. Just some friendly advice."

I sit back against the leather seat, watching the cheerful houses disappear behind us, and I think about Mrs. Graves, too, who refuses to come back to Elysium.

"Do you think Hadria will die?" I ask suddenly. "In this quest of hers, against the Imperiolis?"

Lyssa is quiet for a long time before she says, "I think Hadria is consumed with the need for vengeance. It's a strength of hers, that single-mindedness. But these days, she has a distraction."

I whip my head around toward her. "Are you saying you think I'll get her killed? By being a distraction?"

But Lyssa doesn't reply.

CHAPTER 20

Hadria

I stare at the embossed card in my hand, reading Johnny de Luca's looping handwritten addition inviting me to a charity function on the Gold Coast. I received it yesterday and I still haven't made up my mind. While the prospect intrigues me, I distrust walking blindly into unknown territory—even if it's very unlikely that Nero or my father would try to gatecrash a function at the Chesterfield Club of all places, a storied private membership club located in the Gold Coast.

Still, if I ever hope to expand my reach in Chicago, such a top-tier connection as the Bianchi Family would prove useful.

I turn the invitation over in my fingers, debating. I make a mental note to have Lyssa quietly look into the guest list and scan for trouble. My thumb brushes pensively over the thick cardstock as I weigh the benefits against the risks.

Risks that will only increase if I bring Aurora along, as Johnny suggested in his additional note.

My eyes drift to where she sits curled in an armchair, engrossed in a book. Her long hair spills over her shoulders, glinting in the golden afternoon light slanting through the window. She absently tucks a strand behind her ear and I feel a twinge low in my belly at the innocuous gesture.

Her nearness disorients me, scattering my thoughts like autumn leaves in a gale. And if I go tonight, I cannot afford distraction. Not with Nero circling like a shark, waiting for a moment of weakness.

When she first saw the invitation, she squealed in delight at the idea, until she saw the look on my face.

"Oh. You don't want me there," she'd said quietly.

"It's not that," I'd hedged.

"It's fine," she'd told me. "I understand. You want me safe."

But she'd looked bitterly disappointed, and refusing to allow her to attend seems needlessly cruel after the liberties I've already granted. She glances up, meeting my eyes, and the decision is made.

"Get dolled up, Sunshine. Something formal. You're coming with me."