The message arrived with a photograph.
Not a threat.
Not a ransom demand.
A photograph.
Bianca Vale lay on a white floor I had never seen before, her pale hair spread around her face like spilled silk. One arm was bent beneath her at an impossible angle. Her eyes were open.
On the wall behind her, written in something dark and wet, were three words.
Luca did it.
For one second, no one in the boathouse moved.
The river slapped softly against the rotting dock outside. Dawn had not arrived yet, but the sky had begun turning the windows gray. Sofia stood beside the little table, one hand clamped over her mouth, the other still clutching Dante’s real signet ring.
Luca stared at the photograph without blinking.
I looked at him instead.
That was how I knew the picture had hurt him.
No
