But that fact didn’t stop the pull in my gut when she lifted a gun for the first time and hit her target like she was born doing it.
“That woman is dangerous. I knew it the second she walked in yelling and cussing you out to your face,” Enzo mutters.
I shake my head. “She’s not dangerous yet, but she will be.”
“Because you’re planning to turn her into a killer?”
“No. Because she’s willing to become one for her father,” I answer.
And because Constance has a fire under her skin that even she hasn’t recognized yet.
But she will soon.
Enzo pushes off the wall. “Well, if the delicate littlefireflyis already outshooting my men, they’re going to lose their minds when they meet her.”
“They’re not fucking meeting her,” I say sharply. “And she’s not delicate. Not where it matters.”
Enzo lifts his brows at my tone, then wisely leaves it alone.
I look again at the target, the perfect holes, and the controlled chaos.
She’s only going to get better.
Which means one thing: Constance Monroe won’t just survive in my world.
She might burn it all down.
7
“Life has a way of surprising you, sweetheart. Sometimes the things you’re most afraid of become the things you need the most.”
—ROBERT MONROE
Constance
After my training,I shower and collapse into the guest bed. Every inch of me aches just from shooting a gun for a few hours. But it’s a good ache. The kind that says I’m not completely helpless anymore.
I’m so tired I could pass out immediately, but my stomach rumbles in protest when I smell something delicious from the coffee table near the door.
While I was in the shower, the same spectralservant that brought us water earlier must have delivered the silver tray with several covered platters to my room.
I don’t like how easily his resources smooth over the discomfort of my life. It makes relying on him too easy, and too dangerous.
Still, I’m ravenous, so I tear through the soup, steak, baked potato, and cheesecake as if I had never seen food in my life.
I haven’t finished eating when there’s a knock at the door. I cinch up the bathrobe as I cross the room, taking a moment to check my cell phone and see that it’s a little after noon. I open the door to find the young man, Luca, standing just outside with an older, thin woman carrying a small leather satchel.
“Ms. Monroe?” the woman asks me as she peers at me over her glasses. “I’m Diane, Mr. Luciani’s tailor and stylist. I’m here to get your measurements.”
Oh right.
I back out of her way, and she walks past me into the room. With a wave to Luca, I close the door and turn back to her. “What do you need me to do?” I ask.
“Just come stand over here by the mirror. Keep the robe on, you don’t have to get undressed.”
I do as she instructs and then stand patiently as she pulls a length of measuring tape from her bag and a small notebook. She lifts my arms and has me hold several different poses as she wraps the tape around me, scribbling notes in her book all the while.
“You’ll need day wear, evening wear, sleepwear…” she mutters as she works. “Do you have your own undergarments?”
