“Are you certain no one else knows Madam Zenya's true identity? Have you told anyone that you are Constance Garibaldi?”
Bartleby shook his head. “I've only known for a few months. It's been a well-kept secret.”
Constance darted her eyes in the opposite direction. “I considered telling Damien. He's my nephew. A man should know his birth family.”
I bit my lip. “Did you tell him?”
“Not directly, but there's a chance he might be aware.”
“How?” I reached for the piece of paper with private instructions that I'd jotted down for Constance, urging her to have faith in me and to do precisely as I requested. I'd convinced myself to trust her given she might be the only person who could help me trap the real killer. Bartleby seemed innocent, yet there were many moments I knew he was hiding cruci
