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Lyssa turns and comes around to open my door, then helps me out, and I’m so grateful she does, because my hands are actually shaking. If I thought the Wolf was bad, facing the Styx Syndicate Boss—backed up by every member currently on site—is worse. Much worse.
People are already heading over, from the gardens of the estate, and from inside the house. I see Aurora and suck in a breath. Lyssa takes my hand and squeezes it. “Let me do the talking.”
I couldn’t say anything even if I wanted to.
I just grip Lyssa’s hand hard and wait until the Syndicate members have all gathered.
Aurora has seen me now, stepping forward with utter confusion in her eyes, which quickly changes to horror—and then hurt, as she turns her gaze on Lyssa instead.
“This is Scarlett Fletcher,” Lyssa says loudly to the assembled people. “The woman I told you all was dead. I said I’d killed her. I…well, I didn’t.” She sounds almost laidback, and I can’t understand how calm she is.
“This is the assassin who killed Bulldog, Eddie and Yuri,” Hadria adds. “Isn’t that right, Ms. Fletcher?”
I stare at her cold, expressionless face, and Lyssa squeezes my hand again. “Yes,” I say simply. “Yes, I did. But I?—”
My words die as Hadria whips out a sleek black handgun, and I hear the unmistakable sound of the safety clicking off. I square my shoulders almost by instinct, readying myself to face death without flinching.
But the gunshot never comes. Instead, Lyssa shoves me behind herself, standing between Hadria and me, shielding me from the barrel of the gun, now leveled at her chest.
“Move,” Hadria snaps.
“No.” In stark contrast to Hadria’s venom, Lyssa’s tone is soft yet inflexible as tempered steel. “I won’t let you harm her, Hades. If you want her…you’ll have to go through me.”
My mouth goes dry as ash at Lyssa’s declaration, and then a moment later, a gasp rises up from the whole Syndicate watching, as Lyssa disarms Hadria of the gun in a swift, elegant move.
Twin spots of color stain Hadria’s prominent, pale cheekbones as she goes utterly motionless, save for the slow curl of her fingers at her sides. “Mario,” she grits out in a tone of deceptive mildness, “give me your knife.”
A rough-looking but attractive younger man immediately unsheathes a wicked-looking blade and steps forward to lay it in Hadria’s outstretched hand.
She takes the hilt in a savage grip, tendons standing out in stark relief as she tests the weapon’s heft. Then she’s prowling to the side with an unhurried step, making Lyssa and me turn as she goes.
“Don’t do it, Hades.” Lyssa’s voice is low and harsh. “I mean it.”
Hadria tenses almost imperceptibly, sizing up Lyssa with a look I know all too well—the look of someone judging their opponent, looking for a weak spot.
Oh, God?—
“Stop this at once!”
The commanding bark cleaves through the super-charged tension and Hadria and Lyssa both fall back as if by habit. I peek around Lyssa’s shoulder to see Mrs. Graves hurrying down the front steps of the mansion like an avenging angel, round cheeks flushed with outrage.
“Girls, what on earth do you think you’re doing? Hadria, put that knife away this instant!”
Hadria and Lyssa glance at each other, cool and assessing, and then Hadria flips the knife in her hand to hold it by the blade, and hands it back to Mario.
“What in God’s name is going on out here?” Mrs. Graves demands, hands on hips. No one says a single word. But then her eyes land on me, and she goes pale. “Scarlett?”
I half-raise a hand in greeting. “Hi.”
She stares at me, and then at Lyssa, and a look of understanding—even relief—crosses her face. “Oh, Lyssa,” she says softly. “I knew it. I knew you were better than that.”
“Scarlett’s not the only one back from the dead,” Lyssa says grimly. “Mrs. G, you need to prepare yourself?—”
But a clunking sound from the backseat of the car, followed by a groan, low and raspy, has already caught Mrs. Graves’ attention.
I turn to look into the car as Ariadne, despite the zip ties keeping her bound tight, pulls herself upright in the backseat, and lets her forehead rest on the window as she blinks blearily out at us all.
“Oh, merciful heavens…”
