"Tell me who knows I'm alive."
Isabella sat rigid on the edge of my bed, her hands twisted together in her lap, none of the arrogance she usually wore anywhere in sight. I'd never seen her frightened before. Not truly. Not like this.
"You warned me they would come for me," I said. "So tell me who they are."
Her eyes flicked toward the door before she answered, as though even here, inside Dante's own walls, she didn't trust the silence to keep her words private.
"After the m******e," she said finally, her voice barely above a whisper, "a file circulated. Very few people ever saw it. It contained information about the surviving Morettis."
"Surviving." I latched onto the word. "There were more of us?"
"One name was marked differently from the rest." She met my eyes. "Yours."
My chest t
