Selene dropped the photo like it burned.
It fluttered to the floor face-up—Darius, exposed, marked, helpless. The lipstick looked fresh. The angle of the shot too clean to be coincidence.
Her hands trembled.
Not because of what Dahlia had done.
But because Gianna’s fingerprint was on it.
“Gianna?” Vincent said from the doorway. “That’s impossible.”
Selene couldn’t speak. Her heart beat like a siren.
Vincent crossed the room, grabbed the page, scanned it again.
The ID code matched. Government-grade. Not forged.
“She’s a hostage,” he said, shaking his head. “She wouldn’t—she wouldn’t sign a bounty order. Not unless…”
“She’s not just a hostage,” Selene said hollowly. “She’s working with Dahlia.”
“No.”
“Yes,” she snapped, eyes wild. “Dahlia knew exactly how to twist this. Knew wher
