The house didn't sleep.
By the time the mirror had been covered and the corridor swept, the estate pulsed with restless energy. Doors slammed, radios cracked, boots pounded across marble. The intruder wasn't found, but the violation hung in the air like smoke.
Lottie sat in the corner of Gabe's study, a blanket around her shoulders though she wasn't cold. She hadn't spoken since they pulled her away from the mirror, her voice trapped somewhere deep in her chest.
Gabe stood by the window, silhouetted against the city lights. His phone buzzed every few minutes, each vibration answered with a curt nod or clipped curse. His gun lay on the desk, within reach.
Marco came in, dragging fatigue behind him. "We swept every floor. Nothing. Whoever left that mirror is either a ghost or—"
"Or someone let them in," Gabe finished, voice like ice.
Marco's jaw tightened. "I've already started vetting the guards. Cross-checking alibis."
"Do it again," Gabe snapped. "And again until one breaks."
The tension thickened. Lottie pulled the blanket tighter, watching them through wide eyes. She felt like the estate was collapsing in on itself, not from Vitale's men outside but from cracks within the walls.
Finally, Marco left to continue the hunt, and silence reclaimed the room.
"You think it's one of your own," she said at last, her voice small but steady.
Gabe turned from the window, eyes catching the lamplight. "I know it is."
Her stomach twisted. "And if you find them?"
He didn't answer. He didn't need to. The silence spoke louder than words.
Hours blurred. Dawn painted the horizon in pale gray when Gabe finally turned from his vigil. His gaze fell on her curled in the chair, exhaustion etched into her frame.
"You're not going back to that wing," he said. "You'll stay closer. Where I can see you."
"I'm not a prisoner," she whispered.
"No." His expression softened a fraction. "You're a target. There's a difference."
She wanted to argue, but the memory of her name carved into glass silenced her.
By afternoon, the walls still hadn't breathed. Gabe had gathered his men in the courtyard, their formation stiff and nervous. Lottie watched from the balcony, her heart pounding as he paced in front of them like a lion among trembling dogs.
"There's a rat among you," he said, voice carrying. "I don't care if you've been here ten years or ten days—one of you let Vitale's shadow crawl into my house."
Murmurs rippled through the ranks. Gabe's hand lifted, silencing them.
"You know what betrayal costs," he continued, voice low but lethal. "You know what it costs me. And you know what it costs her." His eyes flicked briefly toward Lottie on the balcony, sharp as a blade.
The men followed his gaze, some with pity, some with fear. Heat climbed her neck. She hated being used as the symbol of this war, hated being reduced to a warning.
But Gabe wasn't finished. "You've got until sundown to prove where your loyalties lie. Fail, and I'll bleed this courtyard until the traitor's bones are dust."
The silence that followed was absolute.
Later, Marco found her in the library, staring blankly at rows of books she didn't see.
"He's scaring them," Marco said quietly, coming to stand beside her.
"Good," she muttered.
Marco studied her, his expression thoughtful. "You're stronger than you think, Lottie. But strength makes enemies as quickly as it makes allies. Remember that."
She looked at him then, searching his face for cracks, for signs he too might be hiding something. But his gaze was steady, his weariness too genuine to fake.
Still, suspicion had already rooted in her heart. If Vitale had a hand inside these walls, it could be anyone. Even Marco. Even the ones Gabe trusted most.
Night fell again, heavy and watchful. Gabe kept her close, seating her in the study while he reviewed ledgers and maps. She tried to focus on the papers, the neat columns of numbers, but her thoughts spiraled.
Her father's name. The ledgers. Vitale's obsession. The threat carved into glass.
Finally, she couldn't hold it in. "What if you're wrong?"
Gabe looked up. "About what?"
"About him wanting ledgers. About this being about legacy. What if it's simpler? What if he just wants me dead because… because he can?"
Gabe's gaze hardened. "Don't give him that power. He doesn't decide why you matter."
"Then who does?" she whispered.
For a long moment, he didn't answer. Then he came around the desk, crouching before her chair. His hands rested on the armrests, caging her in, his presence overwhelming.
"I do," he said softly, dangerously. "As long as you're under my roof, your life, your meaning, your breath—it's mine to protect."
Her pulse raced, fear and longing tangling until she couldn't tell them apart. She wanted to shove him away, to demand freedom, but the words stuck like thorns in her throat.
Before she could speak, a shout split the air outside.
Boots thundered across marble. The study doors flew open. Marco stood there, breathless, a gun in one hand and fury in his eyes.
"We found him."
The courtyard was lit with floodlights, shadows thrown long against the walls. Guards circled like wolves around the kneeling man at the center. His hands were bound, his head bowed.
Lottie's stomach dropped when she saw his face.
Franco. One of Gabe's longest-standing men. He had been the one to bring her tea on stormy nights, the one who'd smiled kindly when the others glared.
"No," she breathed. "It can't be him."
But Gabe strode forward, no hesitation in his steps. He yanked Franco's head up by the hair. The man's eyes darted, wild and cornered, but he didn't beg.
"Tell her," Gabe demanded, voice low and lethal.
Franco's lips parted, cracked and trembling. His voice was hoarse, but the words cut clean. "Vitale paid me. Paid me to watch her. To mark her. To open the door the night Daniel bled out."
The world tilted. Lottie stumbled back, bile rising in her throat.
Gabe's grip tightened. "Why?"
Franco's eyes flicked to Lottie, and in them she saw something worse than greed—shame. "Because she isn't who she thinks she is. Because he wants her erased before the truth comes out."
A ripple of gasps spread through the men. Lottie froze, the words digging deep, sharp as knives.
But Gabe didn't flinch. His gun was already drawn, pressed to Franco's temple.
The traitor whispered one last thing—too soft for anyone but Gabe to hear. Gabe's jaw clenched, his face a mask of fury carved in stone.
Then the shot rang out.
Franco crumpled, blood staining the courtyard stones.
The silence that followed was deafening.
Gabe lowered the gun slowly, his eyes burning holes into Lottie where she stood trembling on the balcony. Whatever Franco had whispered, it was a secret Gabe wasn't ready to share.
Not yet.