I set my supplies down and pulled up my wavy hair, allowing a few shorter strands to frame my face. There were no flowers in my locks today—they’d go limp and wither in moments. The back of my neck was already sticky and the day had only just begun. I was seriously reconsidering my choice to wear white as I tied an apron over my sleeveless dress. I would have prefered to keep my magical tattoo hidden, but there was no way I’d survive the heat, even with sheer sleeves. Hopefully, no one in my family would notice the pale ink, especially if I angled my arm away.

I was deep in thoughts of picturing Wrath trying the tomato pesto when my mother joined me in our little kitchen and grabbed sardines from the ice box.

“You didn’t come home.” My mother wasn’t asking, and her tone was almost as sharp as the knife she was using to debone the fish. “Would you care to explain where you were all night?”

I would sooner sell my soul.

I kept my attention on the pesto, crushing the almonds just right. There was no way I was admitting to working with a blood-drinking demon to solve Vittoria’s murder. And not only had I temporarily aligned myself with one of the Malvagi, but I had also spoken with two others.

Oh, and, by the way, an invisible mercenary demon was following me around, sputtering cryptic warnings, attacked Nonna, and might assassinate me if ordered to. Then, I’d almost died in a Viperidae attack, and a prince of Hell saved me using ancient, dark magic that required both of us to be naked in a tub. My mother’s head would spin. But at least the tattoo wouldn’t seem half as bad.

“I was at the monastery.”

“I know.”

I jerked my gaze to hers, startled. “How?”

“Fratello Antonio stopped by this morning, concerned.” She went at the next sardine with gusto. Slipping the knife under the skin, dragging it down the spine. “He said you were with a young man. A friend of our family’s. Said his name was an odd one.”

“I—”

“Save your lies, child.” Mamma’s grip on her knife tightened. “They’re the gateway to Hell.”

I snapped my mouth shut. My mother must know. She must have seen through my ruse, and had somehow pieced together that I’d used the dark arts. And Fratello Antonio Bernardo had confirmed her fears. I swallowed hard, debating how honest I should be with her.

“Well, you see—”

“Tumbling around dark places with handsome young men might distract from the pain for a little while, but it won’t ever take it away. You need to find your own inner strength for that.”

“I—what?”