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Chapter 41

Icould count on one hand all the things I regretted in my life. Threatening Aramis Marchese was not one of them.

Don't trust the blonde bastards.

Regulus's warning was a poison I knowingly drank from. I knew I couldn't prove it, knew it would be bad for me in the end, but I just couldn't stop indulging myself. After the warehouse attacks, combined with the activities of the night and all I'd learned of past betrayals, there was no doubt in my mind that the Marchese sons hid dangerously dark secrets.

There was just one problem with believing he was a traitor: Aramis would never give his sister to the Niners. For hell's sake, he tried to flee across the sea to the Continent just to protect her. Why would he help them? And had Regulus assumed one too many falsehoods about the scene he walked in on that day on the train? My disdain for him—and him for me—didn't necessarily mean he'd betray his sister.

When things didn't add up, it usually meant I was missing a key part of the equation.

I'd been driving around the city for hours, trying to find it, but my thoughts kept running in circles. By the time I'd returned home, it was nearly dawn. My shirt was damp and clung to my chest from driving too fast down the backstreets of the Row. Only once the adrenaline from my anger subsided, and the inevitable weight of my consequences came crashing down in its place, did I feel the sting of the freezing morning.

The lights of the guesthouse were still on, which meant Aramis and Jeremiah hadn't heeded my warning. Typical. I'm sure Milla had something to do with their refusal to leave.

Nonna was finishing up her baking in the kitchen as I entered, keenly aware I was still wearing the shirt the clock master, Fielder, had bled all over a couple hours ago. She looked me up and down, the crease over her brow deepening.

"You stop right there, Nicolai Roman Attano. I don't need the blood of your enemies staining the marble."

I held my hands up in surrender. "I'm just here for the cinnamon buns."

She wrestled a smile back. "In trouble with your wife again?"

"That's not the only reason. I like cinnamon—" She interrupted my lame excuse with a frown. "Yes, alright. She's very cross with me. I need your comfort food to help me win her back. There must be some kind of magic in the filling."

"You won't win this one back with food, Nicolai," she said dryly. "But all the same, I'll give you a plate to bring up. Can't have you ruining the only marriage my grandchildren have successfully manufactured."

"You are a saint, Nonna," I told her.

She scoffed, setting the plate in front of me. I took a roll while I waited. "Don't look so smug. Your wife isn't even home."

My heart skipped. "What do you mean? Where is she?"

"Oh good," a sweet voice chimed behind me. I whirled to find the heiress herself, summoned by her name. "I was hoping they'd be done by the time I got back." She hung her coat on a hook, and I noticed a revolver tucked into the waistband of her pants. Apparently, she'd gone somewhere that required protection.

"Milla, where—"

"And my husband is home at last," she said with a bright smile. The sight of it and how she regarded me was so shocking, almost unnerving—until she pulled me down by the neck and kissed me hard enough to knock the wind from my chest.

Nonna muttered something in the old language that I couldn't discern between approval or disgust. Milla pulled away but kept one hand locked around my neck. Her opposite reached for the bun in my hand, snatching it from my fingers.

"Milla, where did you go?" I was able to get the whole question out this time, now that her mouth was busy with the pastry.

"Business," she said around a mouthful, then swallowed the rest. "Come upstairs and I'll fill you in. Thanks for breakfast, Nonna."

I grabbed the rest of the sweet rolls Nonna had set out for us. My grandmother pressed her lips together, shaking her head in disbelief. I motioned to the plate and shrugged. "Told you. Magic."

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