Page 58 of Jewel of the Assassin

I take the package and nod once. “Thank you.”

No need to sound the alarm.Yet.

It could be a harmless token from my mother—she’s sentimental in strange, inconvenient ways. Or a gesture of gratitude from one of the many overlords who owe their continued empires to my blade. These kinds of things trickle through the network at times.

As long as the other networks—my comms, supply lines, contracts, and alliances—remain uncompromised, then this is just noise. Background static. I can handle noise.

Zina steps back. Shalun lets out a softchurr,and they disappear down the corridor.

Back in my office, the wind whines against the glass, thunder cracking. I slide my thumb beneath the seal of the package and peel it open.

Inside is a small velvet ring box. Dark red, almost black in the low light. I hesitate only a second before flipping it open. I stare at it, not breathing.

A crest ring rests within. Ornate. Lavish. Heavy with warning sentiment and crusted with blood. A Makarova crest ring.

Anton.

I don’t need a lab to know. But protocol has its place, and I drop the sample into the scanner slot beside my desk. A few seconds pass before the display confirms it.

DNA Match: Anton Makarova.

Not a gift. A message. A fucking threat. And a damn dangerous one. As if he suspected what I would do. And made his own warning preparations.

I bring up the digital interface again, locking into my secured network.

One of your dead drops was activated.

Package retrieved and routed through your authorized secondary.

Cleared by Viktorin.

Viktorin. He wouldn’t send this unless forced. Which means Anton’s reach is growing. Bribery. Coercion. Or worse.

My fingers dance across the console, initiating a new round of code encryption.Route Zeta is now dead. So are couriers 2 and 7.

I reroute the supply drops. And keep the defense systems on hair-trigger protocol.

Anton is getting closer. And he won’t hesitate to destroy everything that belongs to me.

I curl my fingers around the box, my knuckles whitening as fury boils to the surface. If Anton wants her back…

Over my dead body.

He wants a wedding. I’ll give him a funeral.

21

I don’t tell Roman what I remember

VALENTINA

ONE WEEK LATER

Her blood pools into my black coat.

I scream and kick at the man dragging my little body away from her. I tear a clump of her blonde hair. Her eyes are still open. He’s just leaving her in the cold, her blood turning the snow and ice the color of my father’s wine she drugged so she could try to escape…with me.

My father shoves me into the car. I hold the clump close to my chest. And cry all the way home.