It was the vehicle Marcus used when he did not want to be noticed by the local police.

“He thinks I am weak because I spent six years watching him from the corner of the room,” I said.

Sophia stood up, her chair scraping against the hardwood floor.

“This is not the time for a breakdown, Elena,” Sophia said.

“You wanted out.”

“I gave you the door.”

“It is a trapdoor,” I said, turning back to face her.

“You wanted me to run so Marcus would chase me, leaving you to clean out his local accounts.”

Sophia’s eyes narrowed, the green in them turning dark under the desk lamp.

“I am trying to keep you alive,” she said.

“You are trying to keep yourself rich,” I said.

I walked back to the desk, my boots making no sound on the thick Persian rug.

I looked down at the silver revolver.

It was a small, elegant weapon with an ivory grip.

Marcus had given it to her three winters ago after a shipment went missing in Cicero.

I remembered the dinner party where he handed it to her over a plate of roasted lamb.