It might require war.
I looked at Cade.
“Did Marcus request the hit?”
He went completely still.
Every part of him shut down at once. His hand remained on the open car door. His eyes stayed on mine, but something behind them retreated, as if he had stepped inward to a place even guilt could not follow.
His silence answered before he did.
My chest tightened anyway.
“Say it.”
His throat moved.
“Isla—”
“No. Say it.”
He looked past me toward the house.
“Cade.”
His eyes came back to mine.
“Yes.”
The word was quiet.
Small.
Unforgivable.
For several seconds, I heard nothing except the fountain and the distant hum of traffic beyond the gates.
Yes.
Marcus requested the hit.
I thought of the hospital. Marcus pale against the pillows. His hand cold in mine. His voice broken as he
