The music had died. The chandeliers still glittered overhead, but the beauty of the ballroom was ruined by the metallic tang of blood. Guests were huddled in corners, whispering, panicking, some crying into jeweled handkerchiefs. The body of Lucas’s lieutenant lay sprawled in the center, silver flashing cruelly in the light.
Olivia stood frozen, her hand in Lucas’s, her chest rising and falling in shallow, panicked breaths. The words on that note—This is only the beginning—seared themselves into her mind.
“Marcus…” she whispered, recognizing the fallen man. His laughter from earlier meetings still echoed in her memory. He had joked about her “soft” hands once, not unkindly. Now he would never speak again.
Lucas’s grip on her tightened as he crouched beside Marcus, carefully pulling the
