I burst through the front door and look around. I can smell blood. Why can I smell blood? Then I notice a trail of the stuff on the ground. So much of it. Too much of it.

I feel myself start to shake. Where is Kolya?

“Ms. June?”

I turn to find Knox sprinting around the corner. He looks surprised to see me. Apparently, everyone is. Which means that whatever happened here tonight was big enough that everyone forgot all about me.

“What happened?” I ask. “Where’s Kolya? Is h-he… alright?”

“He’s fine,” Knox replies. “But Milana is pretty badly off.”

“What?” I ask, feeling my blood run cold.

“She was shot. Dr. Sara’s working on her now.”

“Shot,” I breathe, trying to wrap my head around that. “She was shot here? In the mansion?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“By whom?”

Knox fidgets, looking extremely uncomfortable for a man as calm as he usually is. “By the don’s brother. He came with your sister.”

I freeze. “Adrian. He came with Geneva? Where is she now?”

“In the blue room where it happened,” he says. “She’s been stuck on the same chair for the past fifteen minutes. She hasn’t moved or said anything. The shock… It got to her.”

I move past him and charge into the blue room. Geneva is exactly where he said she would be. She’s perched on the edge of an armchair with her hands on her lap. Her expression is blank, a frozen rictus of haunted anxiety.

I drop down on my knees in front of her. “Geneva?”

Nothing.

“Genny?” I say softly, trying again. “Genny, it’s me. It’s June.”

She blinks. It’s pathetic how much that one simple gesture makes me feel so much better. The catatonia seems to fade as her eyes focus on me and she blinks a few more times. “Juju…?”

“Yeah,” I say urgently, grabbing her hands. “I’m here. Genny, what the hell happened?”

Geneva shakes her head. She opens her mouth, but instead of words, sobs come barreling out. She leans forward, throws her arms around me, and starts crying.

I don’t think I’ve ever seen my sister cry.

She holds me like a child would hold her mother, with that deep trust that comes from instinct. So I hold her back and wait for the tears to slow.

They don’t. Not for a long time. When she finally pulls away, my legs are numb with pain. I force myself up and onto the coffee table in front of her.

“Genny,” I say gently, “can you tell me what happened?”

Her eyes are wet, her cheeks creased from where she had her face pressed into my shoulder. She doesn’t make any move to wipe her face clean, so I do it for her.

“It’s okay,” I encourage. “Just tell me.”

She looks down for a long time, trying to find the courage through her sobs. “I-I-I… I’m sorry,” she finally manages to choke out. She looks up at me, her eyes pale and translucent. “I should have believed you. Not him.”