Page 22

I T’S SNOWING IN THE VILLAGE.

Of course it is , I observe ruefully. I’m returning to Rothbad for the potential prologue to the end of my heist, and it looks like a freaking Christmas card.

I cross the cobbled courtyard with Jackson. We’re bundled in our coats, pretending we’re here to purchase a souvenir for Jackson’s mom. From its mountaintop perch above us, Volenvell watches.

While Leonie lent the use of her drivers for guests to explore the region, with convenience comes surveillance. I’m certain her fleet reports every location to her, hence our souvenir excuse. Another advantage Mia has over me—she can take her Maserati whenever she wishes.

Accordingly, we left the Phams in Volenvell. I can’t undo Tom’s efforts in gaining Mia’s confidence, and I doubt day trips with Tom’s “ex” would go over unsuspiciously.

Three p.m. in the pre–New Year’s lull has cleared out the square.

Outside the café, we find Kevin and Deonte waiting on a bench.

Incredibly, Kevin did manage to inconspicuously follow my sister for the past hour as I instructed.

Abigail, I understand from the pin he dropped us, is inside.

The guys get up when we near the door, and wordlessly, we enter the café.

Which is when I realize why the village feels empty. The place is packed, warm with crowd heat and noisy with conversation. “What’s going on?” I ask Kevin, genuinely curious.

“ Kaffee ,” he pronounces proudly, “ und kuchen .”

When I say nothing, Kevin elaborates.

“Have you never heard of this? It’s like, huge here,” he enthuses. “Every afternoon, family or friends or whatever hang out for coffee and soft cakes. I prefer himbeerkuchen myself. Raspberry cake.” He gestures grandly to the room in enthusiasm. “We’re definitely bringing this back to the States.”

Honestly, it smells wonderful. Kevin doesn’t need encouragement, however, and I offer none. It would not look intimidating to confront your hacker half sister who has avoided you for months while enjoying himbeerkuchen.

I find her easily. Abigail Pierce is seated in the back, her eyes fixed on her open computer. She does not look cozy. Not even her hot chocolate or half-eaten coffee cake belies her intense focus.

She’s dressed in solid black, her amber curls spilling out from under a beanie with elaborate, jagged typography spelling Mausoleum Mold . Not a band I’ve heard of, but my half sister and I don’t have much in common besides… well, revenge, crime, Dashiell Owens, and attached earlobes.

I sit down in the open seat across from her.

“Happy New Year, sis,” I say, chipper.

Deonte, Jackson, and Kevin fan out behind me, blocking Abigail’s exit route.

Not that Abigail seems all that keen to exit. She looks up from her computer as if she expected me. As if I’m late for a coffee date we arranged.

“Took you long enough,” she replies. She closes her laptop carefully. Her tone holds a level of sarcasm I expect only younger sisters can achieve. “I’ve eaten three pieces of kirschtorte just waiting for you. I was starting to worry Kevin had lost my trail.”

To my right, Kevin crosses his arms, indignant. He was so proud he’d accomplished his job— I was proud he’d accomplished his job. But…

“You wanted us to find you,” I say.

Abigail’s tone is anything but warm. “You haven’t heard from me or seen me in months. Of course the only reason we’re at this table right now is because I wanted you to find me.”

I clench my jaw, hating the reminder of how easily I fell into my sister’s schemes at my own heist this fall.

Humiliating for me, honestly. I thought she was a hacker named Cassidy Cross, when really, she had cut a deal with our father to catch me stealing from him in exchange for her place in his will.

Unfortunately for her, she didn’t know Dashiell Owens very well. He used her like he uses everyone.

“You could have texted,” I say, regaining my cool. “No need to fly to Switzerland just to see me, although it’s heartening how much you missed me.”

Abigail smiles patronizingly, but her eyes remain clear. Focused. “Enjoying the family reunion?” she asks.

I don’t bother being surprised she knows about the reunion. Abigail may have been posing as Cassidy Cross, but the hacker part wasn’t an act.

“Which one?” I return. “The family reunion in the castle with my enemies? Or the one in this coffee shop with my enemy?”

“Your enemy,” she repeats. “Am I your enemy, King ?”

“You tell me,” I reply, undaunted.

Or pretending I’m undaunted. The fact is, I fear Abigail. She’s intelligent, ruthless, and uniquely skillful.

Worse, she’s family.

“You betrayed me,” I point out. “I let it go because I thought maybe I’d give my only sister a chance. Clearly, you weren’t interested.”

Her expression flickers. I’m not expecting the real pain in her eyes.

“Yeah, it was… a lot,” she admits. “Meeting our father. You. I… needed to sort out my shit. Sorry.”

She worries a loose thread on her sweater.

Her discomfort doesn’t seem like an act, although I can’t really be sure with her.

I remember leaving Dash’s study with Abigail when he rejected her.

I remember the only real conversation I ever had with my sister.

I know I haven’t healed from the wounds Dash inflicted on me, not even close. What she’s saying is the same.

And I might be a fool, but… I believe her.

“Have you?” I ask. “Sorted your shit?”

Her lips twitch.

“Nearly,” she says. “Maybe.”

Not yes . Whatever she’s here in Switzerland for, it’s not sisterly reconciliation. My disappointment embarrasses me. I need to stay wary of hope just like I need to stay wary of Abigail.

“Why are you here, then?” I demand.

Abigail focuses on me with new intensity.

“I’m here to warn you,” she says. “You should go home now, Olivia. Before it’s too late.”