Chapter 28
Olivia
“Are you sure you left the dagger at Costa’s?” Roman asked as I paced the bedroom, my stomach a nest of writhing snakes.
“One hundred percent,” I said—then hesitated. “Okay, seventy-five percent. Maybe less. It’s all a blur. But that’s where it should be. Unless—fuck!”
“Amore mio, breathe.” Roman swung his legs over the bed, watching me.
“Breathe? I lost my dagger, Roman. What if someone like Costa found it? I’m doomed!” My arms flailed as panic swirled in my chest.
“Olivia.” Roman’s tone sharpened.
I snapped to face him. “What?”
“We follow the steps. Start at Malik’s, then take it from there. Okay?”
He was right. Freaking out wouldn’t help. But the slight crease at the corners of his eyes betrayed his worry.
“Oh, Roman… what if it’s gone for good?”
He stepped closer, gripping my arms, grounding me. “We don’t know that yet. One step at a time.”
I inhaled, latching onto his composure. “Okay. Malik’s first.”
Without another word, we dressed.
Downstairs, the estate was eerily quiet, save for the distant clatter of kitchen sounds.
I followed Roman through the dining room, my pulse hammering, until we reached the large kitchen at the back of the house, where Beatrice stood at the counter, methodically chopping vegetables.
She paused when she saw us. “Good evening, Mr. and Mrs. Alexander. Did you sleep well?”
“Sì, sì, grazie,” Roman replied smoothly before asking where Count Montego was.
Beatrice resumed her chopping. “I don’t know. He left some time ago but should return shortly for his evening meal.”
Roman nodded. “Mrs. Alexander and I are heading out on an errand. Please inform him.”
“Sì, sì.” Beatrice scooped the diced vegetables into her hands and dropped them into a simmering pot.
Without further delay, Roman and I slipped through the kitchen’s back door and strode toward the stables.
We selected two swift, young horses and rode hard, reaching Malik’s estate in record time.
Roman handed the lathered horses off to the groomsmen as I bolted inside.
“Anybody home?” I shouted the moment I crossed the threshold.
“In the dining room,” Malik’s voice carried back.
I rushed through the foyer and past the living room, stopping short at the sight before me—Malik and Rosie seated at the dining table, sipping tea as if they were a picture of domestic bliss.
A cozy family setting.
Except we weren’t a cozy family. We were a band of misfits with freakish abilities.
Malik set his teacup down with a clatter. “Are you in danger? What’s going on?” His tone was calm, but his dark gaze was assessing.
Rosie clung to Malik’s side, her fingers curling into his sleeve as if I might rip her away. Perhaps he’d told her the truth—that Roman and I knew we were her parents in a past life.
Malik’s eyes pierced through me. “Olivia’s upset, Rosie,” he murmured. “And I told you—she won’t take you away from me. Right, Olivia?”
A challenge. A plea. A test.
I held his gaze, the span history pressing between us.
“Yes, of course,” I said, slowing my heart. “Malik is your daddy, Rosie. But you and I can be friends, right?”
She nodded, her small shoulders easing.
Malik dabbed his lips with a napkin. “So, why have you stormed into my home looking like your skirt might be on fire? I assure you, there are no flames.”
“Oh, but there soon might be,” I shot back. “My dagger is missing.”
Both of Malik’s dark brows lifted. “I haven’t seen it here. Just your gun.”
He placed his napkin beside his plate.
“Maybe you missed it,” I said, wringing my hands.
Malik’s gaze narrowed. “I assure you, I don’t ‘miss’ objects of significant importance, Olivia.” He pushed back his chair and rose.
Roman entered the dining room, his presence grounding me. He and Malik exchanged a brief nod.
“Where else could it be?” Malik asked.
I exhaled hard, my shoulders sagging. “Costa’s.”
Malik let out a low whistle. “Oh, dear. That might be a problem. How exactly did that happen?”
Roman grimaced, rubbing the back of his neck. “Olivia pulled her knife on me at the party. I fooled her into thinking I was a stranger seeking her… favor.”
Malik threw back his head and laughed. “Good one, brother!”
“It’s not good, Malik,” I snapped, flames of impatient rage licking my insides. “It’s not good.”
Malik smothered his amusement, though mischief still glimmered in his eyes. “I’m not making light of the loss, Olivia. Just your remarkable ability to resort to violence at a sex party.”
He leaned over and pressed a kiss to the top of Rosie’s head. “Can you fetch the wooden puzzle I got for you? Once Roman and Olivia have departed, we’ll put it together.”
Rosie nodded and scrambled off her chair.
As she disappeared, Malik steepled his fingers beneath his chin, his expression turning serious. “You realize, without your dagger, you’re stuck in this time, right?”
I threw up my hands. “Just say it, Malik. Without my dagger, I’m fucked!” I stabbed the air for emphasis. “What if it’s destroyed?”
He closed his eyes as if drawing on some unseen force. When he opened them, they were unreadable. “That would be a problem, yes. But I don’t think that it is.”
I rushed forward, gripping the edge of the table. “Can you see it? Do you know where it is? How can you be sure? Tell me!”
“I can’t see it,” Malik admitted, smoothing a napkin between his fingers. “But I know it hasn’t been destroyed. It can’t be. No matter what’s done to it, your dagger cannot be harmed or burned. It’s a magical, mystical weapon.”
I turned to Roman, my pulse hammering. “We have to go to Costa’s.”
He nodded, but before either of us could move, Malik interjected.
“You can’t just storm into Costa’s in that state. Some of his men are still alive. If they see you, and worse, recognize what you are, you don’t want to be discovered as a Timeborne.”
I bristled. “No, of course not. I’m not an idiot.”
Still, my mind reeled, scrambling for a plan.
Malik leaned back. “Then make up a lie. Something plausible.”
“Any suggestions?” I asked, tapping my fingers against my arm.
Before he could answer, a knock echoed from the front entrance.
Malik’s maid scurried past us, her slippers whispering over the floor as she hurried to the door.
A moment later, Count Montego stepped into the doorway, beaming.
“Count Montego,” Malik said, his gaze cool and assessing as he stood.
“Malik,” the count responded with a curt nod. “It’s been a long time.”
He crossed the room and extended a hand. Malik shook it, his expression unreadable.
“Too long,” Malik replied, sounding cryptic.
I watched the exchange closely; something about it set my nerves on edge. I was sure that there was more to their past than mere acquaintanceship.
The count turned to Roman. “I was passing by and wondered if you’ll stay here tonight. I could send for your things.”
“That won’t be necessary,” Roman said with an easy wave of his hand. “Olivia has lost something, and Malik doesn’t seem to have it. We thought to check with Count Costa.”
Montego cocked his head. “Oh? What did she lose?”
My fingers instinctively flew to my neck. “A necklace,” I blurted. “I got it from Queen Elizabeth.”
I prayed my Tudor history wasn’t held under scrutiny.
The count’s eyes widened. “A necklace from the Queen? My, my! I shall accompany you. I’d like to see how Costa is faring after the tragedy. He and I have been friends for a long time.”
“Excellent!” Malik said, already stepping back. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must spend time with Rosie.” With that, he disappeared down the hall.
Montego gestured toward the door. “I came by carriage. Ride with me.”
Outside, the horizon was ablaze with a breathtaking sunset, streaks of crimson and gold painting the sky. It was a stunning sight—one that felt disturbingly out of place, considering what lay ahead. Searching for my dagger under the dimming light would be less than ideal.
I climbed into the carriage, chewing on my nails as Roman and the count engaged in idle conversation. Roman, ever attuned to my distress, kept my hand in his, offering reassuring squeezes.
By the time we arrived at Costa’s estate, twilight had settled, casting long shadows over the wreckage.
The breathtaking sky overhead was a cruel contrast to the devastation before us.
Half of the villa was gone—obliterated. The other half barely stood, a wounded structure clinging to life.
Bodies littered the ground, the metallic stench of blood thick in the air.
Men hauled corpses into wagons while women fluttered about, closing the eyes of the dead and placing coins over their lids.
A shudder ran through me. The memory of the burning building, the screams, and the acrid smoke filled my mind with vivid clarity.
A group of men stood near the wreckage, engaged in heated discussion.
Costa was among them. He turned, his glower cruel.
“Count Montego,” Costa growled, sweeping a hand toward the smoldering wreckage. “Did you see what happened to my beautiful villa?”
“Yes, yes, such a tragedy,” Montego said, striding forward, his tone utterly detached.
Costa’s eyes burned with rage. “Balthazar wants to destroy my life, but I will kill him.”
Montego tilted his head. “So, you believe he’s responsible? I left before things unraveled.”
Costa smirked, the expression laced with something smug. “We all know where you were, Montego—snugly sandwiched between two or more of my female guests. I heard the moans when I walked by.”
Montego didn’t flinch. His only response was smooth, “I had a good time at the party. Shame it ended the way it did.”
My brain stuttered. A threesome? A foursome? I glanced at Montego, but he remained as composed as ever, as if debauchery was just another day’s work.
Costa’s gaze slid to me, Roman, an assessing leer.
“And who do we have here?”
His stare dragged over me with an unsettling, predatory gleam.
Montego, ever the showman, gestured grandly. “My companions, Roman and Olivia Alexander.”
Costa’s lips curved into something vile. “Incantato.”
Delighted.