If her House had ever been involved in a feud, Bern couldn’t find any trace of it. Knowing my cousin, it annoyed him to no end. He’d gone through the trouble of making a graph of her charitable donations, which showed a rather steep climb.

I checked the list of the charitable contributions again. Something was off about it. Most people chose a few worthy causes. Cheryl didn’t. She gave money to everyone, always a significant but not a huge amount, and she never did it anonymously. Connor and Nevada gave more than her, and nobody knew because they gave to charity for the sake of the people who needed it rather than their own.

My phone chimed. Albert Ravenscroft wanting to FaceTime. He always wanted to FaceTime.

I accepted the call. He appeared on the screen, tall, smiling, and handsome in that particular “traditional good looks” way. Perfectly symmetrical features, solid jaw, straight nose, clear blue eyes, dark hair that would be wavy if he let it grow out. All the things indicative of good breeding, money, a healthy diet, and lots of leisure time to play sports. He was smart and decisive, he wanted to marry me, and he refused to take no for an answer.

He was also the only person outside the family who knew about Leon and Audrey.

“I didn’t think you would answer. Today is my lucky day.” Albert smiled. “Are you free for dinner?”

I would need more information to answer that question. If he had shared what he knew with someone, I could be free for dinner, but he wouldn’t like what would follow. “I don’t know yet.”

“So, it’s a maybe? I’ll take a maybe.”

Next to me, Alessandro muttered something under his breath.

“What’s the occasion?” I asked.

“Nothing special. I haven’t seen you in two weeks and I miss you.”

Say something normal. “That’s sweet.”

Alessandro turned and looked at me. I ignored him.

“When will you know if you’re free?”

“I’m not sure. I’m working. What’s the latest I can text you?”

“Catalina, you can text me anytime. If tonight at 1:00 a.m. you decide you want ramen, or bulgogi, or caviar, text me and I’ll pick you up.”

If I wanted any of those things, I would get them myself. “Leon says hi.”

No reaction. “How is he?”

“You know, the usual. I’ll text you later.” I waved and hung up.

Alessandro switched lanes with razor-cut precision. “Who was that?”

“That was Albert Ravenscroft.”

“Is he the reason you need a pregnancy test?”

“What?” His voice was so neutral, it took the words a second to penetrate.

“When you were injured, you said you would get whatever tests needed, including a pregnancy test. Is he the reason for it?”

Oh you idiot. “I said I would take a pregnancy test because any time something is wrong with a woman, they do a pregnancy test. I could walk into a hospital with my arm cut off and they would want me to pee in a cup before they did anything about it. I’m not sleeping with Albert, and if I was, it would be none of your business.” I waved my arms. “I could be sleeping with half of Houston and it would be none of your business.”

“True, but if you were sleeping with half of Houston, how would you ever get anything done?”

“I’m great at multitasking.”

He steered the car around the curve of the U-turn, guiding Rhino under 610 to West Loop South. “You’re wrong.”

“How so?”

“Your relationships are my business. I’m trying to protect you.”

“I’ve been protecting myself from Albert and his marriage proposals for months without your help.”

He made a right into a short street that ended in a parking lot. The glittering building towered before us, all pale grey stone and floors and floors of windows reflecting the blue sky.

“Of course he wants to marry you.” Alessandro’s voice iced over.

“Whatever you’re thinking, stop thinking it.”

“He’s in love with you. You said proposals. That means he’s asked you more than once and you’ve said no.”

Argh. Just because he proposed doesn’t mean he wants to marry me . . . No, that’s stupid . . . “And?” There. Nice and noncommittal.

“Arkan approaches him, asks him to cooperate, and in return Albert gets to swoop in when things are at their worst—”

“Swoop in? What is he, a turkey vulture?”

“—and play the white knight when you need him most. A good plan.”

“You need to have your head examined.”

“What kind of a Prime is he?”

“Quit it.”

“No matter. I’ll find out.”

We drove into the parking lot.

“Alessandro, what makes you think that someone would go through the trouble of attacking a House as dangerous as ours just to marry me?”

He parked and twisted toward me. “Catalina, have you seen yourself? Like in a mirror?”

“Oh please.”

“Did you show him your wings?”

“Why would I show him my wings? What do they have to do with anything?”

“What do . . .” Alessandro made an obvious effort to control his voice. “There are men in this world who would stop at nothing to be with you. You’re beautiful, you’re brilliant, and if they knew how dangerous you were, you would get buried in proposals. There isn’t a House out there that wouldn’t want to add you to their arsenal. And when the wings come out, it’s all over. I’m the best antistasi on record, anywhere, and when I saw you, I stared like an idiot. I could’ve stood there, listening to you talk for a year.”

“You’re delusional . . .”

“Why do you think Benedict lost his shit? He survived twenty years in the murder business, he was smart and careful, and then when you showed up he abandoned all common sense and, instead of killing you, tried to capture you, repeatedly. An elite assassin stopped thinking, because there was only room for you in his brain. I almost felt sorry for the bastard just before I shot him, because I know how he felt.”

“You are immune to my magic and my wings.”

“But I’m not immune to you.”

He had to stop saying things like that.

“It’s not the wings for me. It never was.”

I didn’t want to hear it.

“It’s not the wings for Albert either. I heard his voice. If you called him, that guy would run through fire to get to you. If you called me and I was across the ocean, I would—”

“Stop talking.” I put my hand over his mouth.

He shut up.

“Okay. Here’s what’s going to happen. I’m going to interview Cheryl Castellano. She’s dangerous and I need all of my brain power for this conversation. I can’t be distracted. You can come or you can stay in the car. Do you want to come with me? Answer yes or no.”

I lifted my hand.

“Yes.”

“Thank you.”

I got out of the car and marched to the doors. I had no time to think about all the things he just said. There was a Prime expecting me and I had to put on a good show.

The lobby of Felicity Tower offered the latest in modern luxury. Acres of white marble streaked with soft brown tastefully contrasted with geometric onyx columns. A grandiose chandelier dripped thousands of Swarovski crystals above tastefully grouped furniture. Original art in exquisite frames added color to the tan walls. The developer had hired a harmonizer House to execute the interior design and walking into the space was like stepping into another world, a place of power, privilege, and exclusivity. It was at once elegant and welcoming, and as you moved through it, you felt transformed into a member of the elite. Your shoulders straightened, your stride gained confidence, and when you met others, you looked them in the eye, secure in your right to be there.

We passed through security and gave our names to the concierge. We were expected, and he walked us to the elevator. People stopped and looked at Alessandro. Men and women.

It wasn’t just his stunning face, it was the way he wore his clothes, the way he walked, the expression on his face, the hint of a smile in the corners of his mouth. He represented the unreachable ideal they strived toward, power, wealth, youth, beauty . . . The perfect scion of a House. I had no doubt that if we lingered, he would collect a stack of business cards, room keys, and phone numbers hastily scrawled on the first available scrap of paper.

I liked the other Alessandro better. The one who didn’t bother to pretend. The one with lethal magic and a dangerous mind. The one who cursed because I wouldn’t let him take me to the hospital and then patched my wounds on the side of a road.

The concierge handed us off to the elevator operator, who swiped his keycard and delivered us to the sixth floor. We exited into a long rectangular room. A black marble floor stretched to walls the color of coffee with too much cream. The tinted windows dimmed the light to a soft golden glow. Here and there pedestals of frosted glass rose, lit from within by LED lights, and paired with digital screens, some as small as a tablet, some, on the walls, the size of a small TV. A small construct rested on top of each pillar, illuminated by their glow. Odd.