I STARE AT THE EMPTY CASE.

The place where the Crown Jewels once laid, gleaming, until they were stolen in 1805.

"The Crown Jewels were originally from Egypt, and they're not to be mistaken with the English Crown Jewels, which were also stolen. The Egyptian Crown Jewels were a secret to most of the population until on July 24th, 1805, when they were taken." My voice is loud in the small room.

Five Mafia members stare blankly at me.

Angel, Dominic, Retta, Maria and Alessandro.

Continuing on, I say, "In the broad of daylight, a group of thieves came up to the tower. They pretended to be security, they walked in dressed properly, acting like they belonged. And they took the Jewels."

"What about an alarm? A backup measure?" Angel says.

"So few people knew about the existence of the Jewels it seemed unnecessary. Besides, any kind of backup measure would serve as a beacon. It would make people ask questions, like what is so important it needs extra security. Of course, they had spies in place as tourists, but when the thieves acted like they belonged, they convinced even the security they were meant to be there. Unbelievable, isn't it?"

This room, empty for two hundred years, is all but deserted of tourists except for us. I can't even say I'm surprised. The Egyptian Crown Jewels may have been beautiful, but all that's left here is the memory of them. And a plaque, describing their history.

"Okay, I get that, but if no one knows who took them . . . how exactly do we find them?" one of the Mafia asks me. Maria, with her bruised knuckles and sleek brown hair, is looking at me with something like curiosity, fascination.

I rap my knuckles against the wall, as though I'm a teacher striking the chalkboard. "Pay attention now, students. We do know who took them. A rebel group called the Six of Swords. In 1805, they hated the monarchy and they wanted enough riches to overthrow the French royalty. You'd think, after they had these Crown Jewels, they'd become the stars of the revolution."

Everyone stares at me blankly.

"Wrong," I say. "They disappeared. They never used their riches. Not a single one of the Six was ever known to the public for over fifty years."

I wait for a theatrical gasp, or wide eyes, but no one seems to grasp the gravity of what I'm saying. I roll my eyes. "Maurizio Colora, at the age of 72, confessed to the crime. He was the only one. He did not reveal any names of his group, but he became the face of a long-cold case."

Angel raises an eyebrow. "How do they know he wasn't lying? What if he wanted the fame? There's no proof."

"Oh, but here's where you're wrong," I say. "Besides him being 72, there was no point of him confessing to a forgotten theft that he was under no suspicion of. But that's not the point. As evidence, he produced a single ruby. A ruby so precious and pure it could have only been carved from a time thousands of years ago. A ruby that is featured so centrally in the very heart of the Egyptian Crown."

"So why didn't they search him?" Angel says.

"They tried. A week after he confessed, he died, and everything he inherited went to his son. The soldiers had no more rights after the son convinced them his father was a raving lunatic and that the ruby was an heirloom from his deceased mother."

"What if his son was right?"

"He wasn't," I say grimly. "He took the ruby and he went off the grid. Until his own death in 1899, no one knew what had become of him. All he said was that he had found it. He had found something. And that was it."

"Where on earth does that leave us?" Dominic says gruffly.

I give him a withering look.

"We find Maurizio Colora's great grandson, and we figure out what they found." A spectacular plan, really. But it's a good start.

"How do we do that?" snaps Alessandro.

I grin at Angel. "Oh, there's ways of that."

"HE LIVES IN INVERNESS, SCOTLAND. He's forty-six, has one kid, he's divorced. I'm pretty sure he's your guy, but he seems pretty useless to me." A man with a wiry voice and thin, angular features swivels around on a chair to give Angel a look. "Don't know why you'd need him, but here's his address. He knows you're coming, but he thinks you're reporters."

Angel nods briefly and thanks him. Her tech guy, she called him. I guess even the Mafia have some use for nerds.

She shuts off the screen after saying goodbye, and settles back into the plush red armchair. The plane judders a little with turbulence, and I grip the edge of my seat.

The memory of this plane, where we were shot at, makes my shoulder tingle. I can't believe I was shot. I can't believe Angel was shot. Honestly, agreeing to help the Mafia seems so ridiculous it could be a fever dream.

But it's real. All of this is real.

Something occurs to me. "Hey, Angel," I say under my breath. "Those men who were shooting at us . . . who were they?"

"The Genoveses."

I almost sputter and spit out my water. "How could they have found us?"

Angel seems to be snickering. "Who did you think they were? Some random enemy? No, our feud is personal. Very, very personal."

This reminds me of what Vittoria told me. That one day, two years ago, the Genoveses slaughtered Angel's entire family. She is the only Falcone left. If she dies, so does her entire line.

I don't know if she's ready to talk about it. Just because we had sex . . . it doesn't mean she wants me for anything more than that. Doesn't mean we're any closer than we were before. But I can't help wondering where I stand with her. What, if anything, do I mean to her?

"How is Dante?" I blurt out. The last I heard, he was at the hospital yesterday.

"He's going home," Angel says coldly. And I notice that of the seven we started with, there are only five of us now.

I thought Angel was a monster. I was wrong.

But how can I forgive her for the horrible things she's done? Just because she's not a monster doesn't mean she hasn't done monstrous things. Like the bruises on Dante's face, and shooting the windows at the restaurant me and Vittoria were at.

At the thought of Vittoria, I feel a pang. I would give anything to talk to her right now.

Instead, I swallow down my worries and lean my head against the window. To Inverness, Scotland, we go.

Beside me, Angel is quiet, but I know she's looking at me. Does she want to say something? Does she want to talk about what happened? I feel the words unspoken, hovering in the air.

All she does is turn away. Silent. And I am left waiting for something that won't come.

>>

Alright, here's another chapter. Been a while, huh?

Cade has definitely been moody. Her feelings for Angel are pretty much confusing the shit out of her. How can she like someone who has done some awful stuff?

Hope you enjoyed this chapter. We're about to send Cade and Angel on a little goose chase.

To the moon and back,
Sarai

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