“Why did you invite us to your Christmas Ball?” I refilled his whiskey and took a drink of my own.

“I want my family there,” Elaine answered. “It’s Christmas. I don’t see why we can’t put our differences aside for one damn night.”

“His family murdered our father, Elaine,” Tinsley growled.

I clasped her hand beneath the table. “That was never proved.”

“I’m aware of the accusation,” Lucian said, “and I can neither confirm nor deny. I wasn’t there when your father died.” He cocked his head. “Back to the poisoned wine… Was it open when it arrived with the invitation?”

“Yes.” My phone buzzed in my pocket.

I removed the device and read a message from my private investigator. As I absorbed the words, a chill ran down my spine.

Son of a bitch.

Red blurred my vision, and my fingers clenched around the casing, making it creak.

“Magnus?” Tinsley leaned in, trying to see the screen.

“How did you deliver the invitation to Tinsley?” I met Lucian’s cold, black eyes.

“Ah, so now you know. I was just getting around to telling you—”

“What the fuck, Morelli?” I launched from the chair and slammed a hand down on the table, rattling the platters.

“Simmer down.” His jaw tightened. “Two weeks ago, a woman approached me and made me an offer.”

My heart hammered as I lifted the phone and read the text message again.

Edward: I uncovered something. Two weeks ago, a woman was seen leaving Lucian Morelli’s estate. The night of the dinner party, the same woman was spotted at the Constantine mansion. She was carrying a bottle of wine, dressed as a courier. I just emailed the full report.

A vein throbbed in my forehead. I switched to my inbox and opened the email attachment. There, at the top of the document, was a name I recognized from the dark, baleful depths of my past.

“Amanda Herschel.” Lucian lifted his whiskey, finishing it off in one swallow. “She offered me fifty grand to kill your wife.”

“You declined.” I seethed, an impulse away from murdering him.

“I’m not a fucking hitman for hire.” He scoffed.

“Magnus, sit down.” Tinsley skimmed a hand up my rigid spine, her touch soft. Too soft to penetrate my tunnel vision.

She could’ve died that night, and this soulless bastard sat here all calm and collected as if her life wasn’t on the line.

I snapped, lunging across the table and toppling dishes. My hand caught him around the collar as I roared in his face, “You didn’t think to inform me that someone was planning a hit on my wife?”