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This house had shaped part of me. Not the man who prayed, fed the poor, or sat beside the dying. The man who knew which member of the family would reach for a weapon first and who would pull the trigger without hesitation.

I had never wanted Adriana to meet that man. Now she stood inside my birthplace.

Marigold still held my hand. Her fingers were sticky, yet still I didn’t let her go.

We gathered in the main sitting room. It had always been too large and too formal. Tone remained standing, quiet and aloof, while Archie stood behind her.

Zeno stood off to one side, the bridge between me and my family.

Adriana stayed close to me. Atlas looked at her before he turned back to me.

“Do we get an introduction, DeMarco, or are you just passing through?”

“Adriana Serra,” Adriana introduced herself.

Her voice was steady.

Proud girl. Brave girl. My ruin.

Atlas’s gaze flicked to me. He understood something he saw in my face that he didn’t necessarily like. “Do you intend to explain yourself, De Marco?”

I looked at my sister.

“I want Adriana settled somewhere safe before this family cuts me open for sport.”

Adriana turned her head slightly toward me.

Atlas studied Adriana for a moment, then looked at Tone. “Take her upstairs, Tone.”

Tone’s eyes flashed as Adriana stepped up until she was standing beside me. Tone looked at her. Something passed between them. Woman to woman. Survivor to survivor. I had no right to interpret it.

Tone nodded in understanding.

Marigold tugged on my hand. “Can she see my rabbit?”

“No,” Tone snapped.

“It’s a very good rabbit.”

“Marigold.”

Archie leaned down. “Perhaps after the adults finish being dreadful, Goldie.”

The child sighed as if burdened by fools.

Adriana’s eyes searched my face before she left with Tone. I didn’t know what she found there. I only knew she seemed less afraid of this family than I was.

When the women were gone, the room hummed with anticipation.

Marigold was dragged gently away by Archie after several protests and one final announcement that dead uncles were more interesting than living ones.

Then the door closed.

Atlas’s voice came first.

“Where have you been?”

“In Rome.”