It should have ended there.
It didn’t.
Raven inhaled, gathering herself for the part she clearly hated most.
“Isra… Dimitri told Cass and Constantine something else. About the newest fragment.”
His brow lifted. “What about it?”
Raven hesitated, then continued. “He said the broker handling this sale has worked with Marcus in the past. That Marcus may have access to the piece. Or at least to the seller.”
For a moment, Isra didn’t move.
Then he laughed—disbelieving.
“No. Absolutely not. Marcus is many things, but a criminal? No.” He waved a hand. “Dimitri is a liar with a flair for theatrics. He’s messing with you.”
“That might be true,” I said. “But whether Marcus is involved or not, our priority is the fragment. If this is the closest lead we’ve found, we need to follow it.”
Isra stared at me, lips parting as if he wanted to argue. His shoulders tensed beneath the glittering gown. I could see the hurt forming behind his eyes—the betrayal he didn’t want to admit was possible.
Jana shifted beside Raven, watching her father with growing worry.
“Dad?” she whispered.
Isra swallowed, straightened, and took a slow breath. His expression hardened—not with anger, but determination. He pulled his phone from a small rhinestone clutch sitting on the end table.
“All right,” he said quietly. “I’ll call him.”
He dialed quickly, hitting speaker before Raven could object.
The phone rang once.
Twice.
Three times.
Then Marcus answered, voice warm and unaware. “Isra? Everything okay, love?”
Isra closed his eyes briefly, steadying himself. “Could you come to the club? Now. There’s something we need to talk about.”
A pause. “Now? Is something wrong?”
“Yes,” Isra said, the word tight and controlled. “Please. Come here.”
Another silence.
Then Marcus exhaled. “I’m on my way.”
The call ended.
Isra lowered the phone into his lap, hands trembling ever so slightly.
Raven reached out, but he lifted a hand to stop her.
“I’m fine,” he said. It wasn’t convincing.
I exchanged a look with Con.