“They were,” my dad replies. “They kept track of you all for me and were meant to run interference at the ball if things went wrong. If you were looking closely, you would have seen that under that executioner’s mask was Eddie.”

I stare at my dad, baffled by the scope of what he did here and the skill it took to pull it off.

“And the note,” I say. “The one you left for us in the apartment telling us to come to the dungeon. You acted surprised to see us. But you knew we were coming the whole time, didn’t you?”

My dad takes a heavy breath, a weight appearing to rest on his shoulders. “I never wanted you all to come to the dungeon. It was never my intention. But Jag found out you were in London shortly before the ball and he was preparing to send his assassins with instructions to kill everyone but Nova, whom he planned to execute publicly.”

Aarya blanches.

“With no better alternative, I slipped information to Logan, giving him a chance to make more money, win Jag’s favor, and outwit you. Then Rose convinced Jag that he should let you all come to him, to sneak into his dungeon, that it would be impactful for all of Strategia to see the far reaches of his power.”

We’re all quiet for a beat and I look at Ash and Aarya. Would they still be here if Jag’s assassins had come for us? I shiver involuntarily.

Matteo, who has been mostly silent, clears his throat and glances toward the door. “Forgive me, I don’t mean to interrupt, but I can’t stay. My Family is expecting me.”

My dad nods, understanding. “Tell Maura I’ll be in touch shortly,” he says without further explanation.

“I will,” Matteo says, and stands, but turns toward me before he leaves. “Also…I just wanted to say, November, that my mom’s in town for another few days.” He pauses. “And well, if you want to meet her, I think she would really like that.” The tension that’s usually between us is noticeably absent.

My eyes widen and warmth spreads deep in my chest at the idea that my mom and Aunt Jo’s sister wants to see me. “I’d love to,” I say, my delight seeping through my words, and with a friendly nod he turns. “And, Matteo,” I say, calling after him. “Sorry I punched you in the face the other day.”

He shrugs. “I guess that’s just our thing.”

We share a smile and he walks out the door, closing it behind him.

I turn back to my dad, to find him watching me, and realize how different we both are since the last time we saw each other. But my moment of reflection is short-lived because it suddenly occurs to me that Matteo is leaving but we aren’t.