We’re met by our own little welcoming committee when the car stops. Several men, none of whom have visible weapons, pat us both down. I have a knife strapped to my calf that gets confiscated.

One shoots me a dirty look as we’re escorted inside, but I figure it’s more suspicious to show up with no weapons than it is to get caught with one knife.

This place is packed with people. The sun is just setting, and there’s music and that loud rumble of voices you hear in a crowd.

I search for my target.

Nothing.

I see the Admiral. But he’s not my target.

I see James’ drunk mother. But she’s not my target either.

I see… Nick.

And he’s holding hands with a dark-haired girl who has the same brilliant green eyes as James.

Nicola. I’ve never met her before, but I know that’s her. Is that the girl Nick was referring to?

I’m just about to make my way over there and start shit when a hand grabs my shoulder. I look up to see the Admiral.

He’s not looking at me, though. He’s looking at One.

“One. You continue to surprise me,” he says, lifting his champagne glass in a fake toast.

“Six is not the only one with surprises,” my uncle answers.

“I should say not. Have you come to deliver the file you stole from my daughter?”

“No,” One says evenly. “I came to pick one up.” I’m still in the Admiral’s grasp when they both look down at me. “She’s got some very interesting information. It seems that you, Admiral, have been set up by a little girl and her—”

James has One in a headlock and he’s choked the words off. “You made a big mistake coming here tonight, One.”

“Vincent,” the Admiral says with a chuckle. “Please. We’re not going to finish this here—” And then he must look James in the eyes, because the realization of who he is flashes across his face.

James snaps One’s neck and is easing him down to the ground before anyone actually realizes what just happened. In fact, only the few people closest to the Admiral understand. I’m just about to search One for the file while everyone is distracted by James when I see my target being pulled out of the room.

I leave the ballroom just as the room erupts in panic and follow Harper and her would-be abductor down the west wing of the palatial mansion. She’s pulled through the door, not fighting or crying out, either. So that alarms me. What if Harper is working for someone else as well? It seems we are nothing but a clusterfuck of double and triple crossings tonight.

I stop at the closed door to the room they entered and then open it a crack to see what’s going on.

Chapter Thirty-One

Harper

“Let go of my hand, you bitch.” I yank my arm out of her grasp and turn, my ridiculous full skirts on this elaborate gown swirling at my feet in a whoosh.

“Where is he?” Mrs. Fenici spits. Her breath is laced with alcohol and her hands are trembling as she points her finger in my face. I smack it away and she tries to grab me again, the bangle bracelets on her frail wrist jangling. “That is not my son out there. Where is my son?”

“That is your son, you drunken bitch.” And then I look over at the door and spy Sasha. I want to smile and give her a hug but she looks like she’s all business. The witch turns to follow my gaze and Sasha gives her a little wave.

“Hello there, Mrs F. Do you need help, Harper?” she says in her sweetest little-girl voice.

I almost smile. “No, thank you, Sasha. I’ve got this. Why don’t you go find Nick and take care of his little problem.”

“Will do,” she quips, and exits through the door just as quietly as she came in.

“What are you doing? I demand to see my son. Who did you marry last night?”

“Not the son you think,” I say in a low voice. “And you’re not going to leave this room, I’m afraid. So you won’t be seeing anyone.”

“Right,” she spits through her teeth. “I’m—”

“You’re sick,” I say, cutting her off. “What kind of mother sends her sons off to kill? What kind of mother sends her daughter off to kill?”

“Your James did that.”

“No.” I shake my head. “My James owed your assassin a life debt. He had no choice. You’re the one responsible for all this because you were so power-hungry or weak-minded, you didn’t have the wherewithal to resist selling out your children.” She opens her mouth to speak, but I slap her so hard across her mouth she sways sideways and falls to the ground.

“You bitch,” she seethes.

I step forward and kick her in the teeth with my pretty white shoe that matches my pretty white dress. Her head crashes back against the floor this time, her legs sprawled out in front of her.

I lean down and grab her dark hair and look her in her green eyes as I yank her head back. “It’s unfortunate that I never learned to shoot, because then you’d go quickly. But the only weapons I have at the moment are my hands. So I’m going to take your life with those.”

She thrashes her legs and waves her arms around, trying to land a punch, I think. But this woman, Jesus. It’s almost like a lioness toying with a mouse. She is weak and pathetic. I dodge her attempts, but even the couple that land don’t hurt bad enough to make me wince.

And then I have a fleeting thought. Why? Why am I such a highly trained killer?