Marina thought about every time Alessandro had mentioned Malachar. The complicated mix of obligation and distrust. The way he’d deferred to the demon’s advice even when it didn’t feel right. A decade of conditioning, slowly eroding Alessandro’s instincts until he couldn’t tell friend from enemy anymore.
And Marina was the only one who could see it clearly.
She gathered the documents carefully, hands trembling with suppressed rage. Her grandmother had died two years ago, two years after a lifetime of trying to break this curse. Had Malachar known about her research? Had he done something to stop her?
The questions burned in Marina’s chest, but she forced herself to focus. First, she had to make Alessandro see the truth. Then they could figure out what to do about it.
Even at this distance, even through the hurt, Alessandro’s presence pressed against her awareness like a distant thunderstorm. He was at the bakery; she could sense his agitation, his guilt, his confusion. He still didn’t understand.
She had to make him understand.
She found him in the kitchen, staring at a mixing bowl like it held the answers to the universe. The bakery was closed, had been closed for two days now, since their fight. The bread dough she’d been making had gone untouched, slowly deflating on the counter.
“I need to show you something,” she said.
He looked up. His hope was right there, naked and clumsy, and her throat tightened against it.
“Marina. I’m sorry?—”
“Not yet. First, look at this.”
She spread the documents across the counter. The contract. The financial records. The pattern she’d traced through two centuries of Draven history.
“Malachar signed the original curse contract,” she said. “As a witness. In 1824.”
Alessandro stopped. “That’s…”
“Two hundred years ago. He’s been your family’s ‘advisor’ for exactly as long as the curse has existed. And every piece of advice he’s given has made things worse.”
“Marina, that’s not…”
“Look at the records.” She pointed to the investment histories. “1892: Malachar recommends railroad bonds. The company collapses within a year. 1929: Malachar suggestspulling out of stable investments before the crash. Your family loses everything when the safer options fail instead. 1987…”
“Coincidence.”
“Is it?” She stepped closer. “He’s PROFITING from your family’s suffering, Alessandro. The curse doesn’t just drain Draven fortune. It has to go somewhere. And Malachar has been there, collecting, for two centuries.”
She felt him trying to reject it, his denial pressing back against her certainty. Trying to find an explanation that didn’t require accepting the truth.
“You’re seeing conspiracy where there’s just coincidence.”
“And you’re seeing coincidence because the alternative is too terrible to face.”
He looked away. “You don’t understand…”
“I understand perfectly.” She had to force the next words past the tightness in her throat. “If I’m right, then you’ve been trusting the enemy for ten years. You’ve been letting him close to your family. You’ve been…”
“Stop.”
The word came out hoarse, half a plea.
His terror reached her, cold sweat that wasn’t hers breaking out along her arms. Not of Malachar, of himself. Of what he’d done. Of what his blindness might have cost.
“I can’t,” he said, barely audible. “I can’t accept that I’ve been so wrong. That everything I’ve done to save my family has actually helped the thing destroying them.”
“You didn’t know.”
“I should have.” His hands were shaking. “You saw it immediately. The first time you met him. And I’ve known him for years and never…”
