I couldn't breath and it is not because my lungs were failing, but because the air felt poisoned. Stale. Tainted by Leonardo's words that still echoed in my skull, a slow, mocking chant I couldn't silence.
"Ask your mother."
He hadn't needed to say anything else. The way his mouth curled as if he'd delivered the final move in a carefully orchestrated checkmate told me everything. That bastard knew something I didn't—something about the bloodline I came from. About her.
I turned the ignition, knuckles bone-white against the steering wheel, Isabella silent in the seat beside me. She hadn't said a word since we left the warehouse. I didn't blame her. What was there to say after what she saw?
After what we both survived?
