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Adrick gaped. “What are youdoinghere?”

“I have to talk to you.”

“No. You have to leave. Right now.”

Alessa fumbled for the cookie, pulling it out with a scatter of crumbs. “Who ordered these from the bakery yesterday?”

Adrick blanched. “I don’t remember.”

“Do you remember if you put poison in Papa’s lemon verbenas, or did someone add it afterward?”

Adrick pulled at his hair. “I can explain, but not now. You have to leave. This isn’t how—” He jerked his head at the sound of voices from inside the shop, his entire body tensing.

“What is wrong with you?”

“I’ll come to the Cittadella tonight, I promise.Please. Just go.”

Adrick’s alarm cut through her anger, and Alessa fled, stuffing the crumpled handkerchief back into her pocket.

The Fratellanza members were no longer out front, but every face on the street became an enemy, whether they looked her way or not. People saw what they expected to, and a clean faced girl in simple clothing wasn’t worth noting, but in her heightened state, it felt like a massive light shined directly on her, drawing every malicious gaze.

The street was crowded, and as she debated whether to head back to the bakery or try to find Dante near his old stomping grounds of the Barrel, her eyes caught on a figure a block away. It was embarrassing how easily she’d spotted him, how her attention snagged on a brief glimpse of the back of his head as he strode in the opposite direction.

She called his name, but he didn’t turn. Too many passersby did.

She’d have to catch up.

As she dodged people, trying to keep him in sight, Dante knocked shoulders with a man passing the other way, and they whirled on each other like alley cats looking for a fight.

Two women stole glances at Alessa as she passed their roadside stand, sizing her up a bit too intently, and she pulled her hood down, losing sight of Dante as she tried to melt into the crowd.

She almost walked right past the narrow alley, but Dante’s voice stopped her in her tracks. At the very end of it, he was arguing with a man in a white robe.

Alessa ducked behind a stack of barrels, heart in her throat, and watched them through a gap.

The man was tall and thick-waisted, with a shorn head. Not Ivini. Relief flooded her veins, but it didn’t last long.

“And what’s in it for me?” The man sneered, and Dante met his vitriol with extra to spare, but most of his response was drowned out by shouts from the street behind her as a cart overturned. She only caught one word.

Kill.

Stars flashed in her vision.

Was it a threat… or a promise?

The man clenched his fists.

Dante flipped his daggers, catching them by the hilts.

Alessa held her breath.

The air crackled with tension, as each man seemed poised to strike, but neither spoke or moved for a long time.

At long last, Dante sheathed his blades with a derisive sneer. “Vai a farti fottere.”

The older man spat on the ground and backed away, his attention so fixed on Dante he didn’t notice Alessa as he passed.

Anger swelled inside her, cresting like a wave.