Chapter 20 · The Eagle's Ring

The ring on that hand. Black eagle, chipped left wing.

I knew that ring better than my own face. I'd watched that hand carve our Sunday roast for twenty years. It had patted my head at my mother's funeral while I choked on my tears.

Now it was holding a smoking gun.

On the surveillance monitor, my mother's body slid down the kitchen cabinets. Grainy video. No sound. It didn't need any.

"Lucia."

Dante was right behind me. Deep, quiet voice. I hadn't even heard his boots hit the concrete stairs.

I didn't turn around. My fingers dug into the edge of the keyboard, shaking so hard the keys clicked.

"Play it again," I said.

"You've seen enough."

"I said play it again, Dante."

He leaned over my shoulder and hit the key. His sleeve grazed my bare arm. He smelled like lake water, gun oil, and me—the sweat from what we'd done on his desk upstairs ten minutes ago, right before I hacked his terminal.

I hated that I noticed. God, I hated it.

The footage looped back. My mother's mouth moved. She said something to the man standing in front of her.