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“Mamma, Paolo is a dangerous man. He’s made many enemies in this city,” Viola explained. Enemies who had already threatened to use Pasqualina against both Viola and her brother. “And Torrio, he is one of them.”

“Bah!” her mother said, throwing down the rag. “If you had any salt in that gourd of yours, you could have caught the Fox. He would have made you a fine husband, but no—”

Their time was up. Two of the Five Pointers from the church entered the vestibule. The taller of the two spoke to Viola’s mother. “Signora Vaccarelli, is this girl bothering you?” He glared at Viola with a hardened expression that told her the man knew exactly who she was.

“Mamma,” Viola pleaded. “Please. You have to believe me.”

“Mr. Torrio sent us to see you safely home,” the other scagnozzo said easily. “He worried that something like this might happen.”

“Please,” Viola pleaded. “Please come with me.”

Her mother glanced at the two men looming over them, but when she turned back to Viola, her expression was as cold and unfeeling as the marble icons in the church. “Paolo, he gave you a home, gave you his protection, and what did you do in return? You chose sconosciuti over your own blood. You are the reason Paolo is in jail, not Mr. Torrio. You—”

“Torrio is a rat, Mamma. He’ll use you against Paolo,” she said, wishing she had more time to explain. “Johnny Torrio won’t keep you safe. Neither will his men here.”

“And you will?” Her mother’s mouth pinched in disgust. “What? Will you take me to your melanzane?”

“Don’t call them that,” Viola said. Her voice was sharper than she intended it to be, but she didn’t apologize, and she wouldn’t retract her words.

Her mother pointed at her, jabbing at her chest to punctuate her words. “There is the truth. You could be here, working to help your brother until he returns, but still you choose others over your own blood.”

“I haven’t—”

“Now who lies?” Pasqualina shook her head. “I tried, Viola. I tried to be a good mother to you. I tried to make you into a good, god-fearing woman and to teach you what is right, to teach you the importance of the family. But I’ve failed. Madonna, how I’ve failed. Look at you. At your age I was already a wife, a mother. Instead, you run around the city like a crazy woman, come una puttana. I am finished trying.” She turned to the men. “It was kind of Signore Torrio to think of me. Please, I would like to go now.”

“Mamma—” She stepped toward her mother. “You can’t go with them.” It was the exact thing she’d come there to prevent. “You would choose Johnny Torrio over your own daughter?”

Pasqualina blinked, unmoved by the emotion in Viola’s voice. She lifted a hand, as though brushing the past—and Viola with it—aside. “I have no daughter. Not anymore.” Then Pasqualina Vaccarelli lifted her chin, proud and resolute, and brushed past Viola as though she were a stranger. The Five Pointers followed, and as the third passed, he gave her a rough shove with his shoulder.

Before she could even consider what to do, they were gone, leaving Viola alone in the stream of worshippers departing the church. At first, she could not move. The finality of her mother’s words had turned her feet to lead. Strangely, it wasn’t grief or regret that overwhelmed her now but a hollow sort of relief.

It was over. There was no returning from this, no way back into her family’s arms. Not ever again.

Viola wasn’t sure how she got herself back to the apartment. Navigating the bustling streets of the city felt like walking through a terrible dream.

Jianyu was already there when Viola arrived. He was sitting on the lone bench in the room, his shoulders hunched and his finger running along the underside of a black silken bracelet secured around his wrist. He was examining it so intently that he didn’t notice her come in. There was an unsteady buzzing cold in the air, unnatural magic.

“What is that?” she asked, closing the door behind her.

Finally, he looked up at her. “It is done,” he said, his voice sounding strangely hollow. When he looked up at her finally, there was a quiet desperation in his features. There was determination as well, though. “Tom Lee has agreed to our alliance. I will once more become his spy, and in return, his men already have been sent to seek out Cela.”

“And that,” she asked, nodding to the bit of unnatural magic tied around his wrist. “It is his price?”

“It is part of his price.” Jianyu grimaced. “He will have my loyalty, or he will take my magic.”

Viola frowned. “Only part of his price? What else does he want?” she asked, knowing already that she wouldn’t like the answer.

Jianyu looked more miserable than she’d ever seen him. “He knows of Dolph’s cane. I am to retrieve it for him.”

Understanding settled through her. There could be only one reason Tom Lee would want the cane Dolph Saunders had carried—the same reason Nibsy Lorcan wanted it. “He wants the Devil’s Own.” He wants us.

Jianyu nodded.

“You can’t have agreed to such a thing,” she said, horrified. It was bad enough to have discovered that Nibsy Lorcan had the cane, and with it, the marks. But for Tom Lee, a Sundren who wanted only territory and wealth to have it? No.

“I had no choice,” Jianyu said. “Cela is missing, and the fault for that lies with us. With me. We need Lee and his men. They can go beyond the Brink where we cannot. They can keep Nibsy too busy to cause trouble as well.”

“But the marks…” She shook her head, unable to imagine a world where Tom Lee controlled the most powerful Mageus in the city.