Apparently, a rogue poisoning was just another day in the life of the Wolf.
Or not.
Dante tapped a knife against his thigh. “Dammit. I don’t like leaving you unprotected.”
“Then take me with you.”
“The city isn’t safe.”
“Neither is the Cittadella, apparently. My parents are bakers. They might know who made the cookies. I doubt they’re harboring assassins in the storeroom, so you can leave me there while you run your errand.”
Dante frowned. “I don’t know…”
“No one will recognize me. I won’t be dressed like the Finestra, and half the guards are busy salvaging supplies in the storage levels that got flooded the other day.”
“Do you always break this many rules?”
“Believe it or not, it’s a new development.” She clasped her hands below her chin. “Please, Dante. Even if they don’t know about the cookies, I want to see them. If you’re right about why I keep hurting people, maybe closure would help.”
“Or make it worse.”
“Please?”
She hid her satisfaction when he grumbled assent. If he ever realized how often she got her way by making doll eyes at him, Dante would never agree to anything again.
Alessa hung up the ruby gown and riffled through her closet, settling on a simple blue dress with long sleeves that mostly concealed her gloves, and gold tights so pale her legs appeared bare unless one looked closely. She wanted to return home as herself, not the Finestra, so she cleaned her face and parted her hair, braiding it into a simple plait down her back.
Looking at her reflection, she had the strangest sense it wasn’t a mirror at all, but a window to another life, a glimpse of the girl she could have been. She tried on a carefree smile, but it didn’t fit. There was no other Alessa, no other life. This was all she had.
* * *
The quaint storefront was fancier than it used to be, the lettering redrawn in gold, the windows replaced with beveled panels.
“Nice-looking place,” Dante said, probably wondering why Alessa was staring at it instead of entering.
“They’ve made good use of their stipend.” She should probably be glad the monthly payments they received for their sacrifice—for sacrificing her—were helping the family business, but she wasn’t noble enough to hide her bitterness.
“Want me to come in?” Dante asked.
“No,” she said. It would be hard enough without a witness. “Just come back as soon as you’re done.”
It was almost closing time, and the bakery was empty, the display case lacking its usual goods. Cloaked in the lingering scents of yeast and sugar and her childhood, Alessa locked the door behind her and flipped the sign.
“We’re about to close for the day, but there are a few loaves—” Her father walked out from the back room, dusting his flour-coated hands on his apron, and jerked to a stop at the sight of her.
His hair was longer, more salt than pepper, and his face was slightly more drawn, but his expression matched the last one she’d seen on his face—dismay and awe, tempered with melancholy.
“Finestra.” His arms lifted, then dropped. “What brings you here?”
She ached for the hug that wouldn’t happen. “Hello, Papa. Please, use my name.”
He darted a look around the empty kitchen. “Alessa. My little love, you’re all grown up.”
“I’ve missed you.” Tears slipped down her cheeks.
He came out from behind the counter but stayed out of reach. “We’ve missed you. I’ll never understand why the gods make the choices they do, but I have faith. I know this can’t be easy.”
An understatement if she’d ever heard one. If she let herself, she’d dissolve into a sobbing puddle, so Alessa allowed herself one sniff and pulled the tainted cookie from her pocket. “Do you know who made this?”
Papa furrowed his brow. “I haven’t made a batch in a while, but Adrick was manning the kitchen yesterday. He might have. Why?”
Her heart rate kicked up, escalating at the sound of footsteps on the back stairs.
“Marcel, have you turned the sign?” Her mother stopped mid-step as though the floor had taken hold of her shoes.
“Mama.”
“Finestra.” Her mother dropped into a low curtsy. “With all due respect, you shouldn’t be here.”
Her foolish heart sank. “I know what the Verità says, Mama. I won’t stay long.”
“If you know what it says, then you know what the gods ask of us. You aren’t supposed to be here.”