"No." I jumped out of bed, leaving a smudge of blood against the top sheet. My pulse pounded in my ears. "No. No. No. No. Not again."

"Amuri?" Artemisia pushed up to lean over Desirae. "What—" Her eyes went to the red on my hands. She slid off the bed without disturbing Desirae in her sleep and hurried to my side.

"I—I don't know what happened. We fell asleep, right? I was sleeping. I—"

"Sit back down."

"Artie—"

"Sit." Artemisia grabbed my wrists and pushed me back down onto the bed. "Talè." She slid my hair off my sticky shoulder. Her thumb gently pressed against my tender skin. "We tore your stitch. That is all."

I looked down at the wound surrounded in red, touching it just to be sure. My hands slid over my chest where a black strappy harness wrapped my body. It looked like the one Soraya had been wearing earlier. Squinting through the dark, I checked the room for any sign that she had joined us. Two more opened bottles of champagne sat on the marble server next to the mirror. Only three glasses. I remembered popping the first after we all fucked. But not the second. And not putting a leather bodice on.

Artemisia disappeared behind the bathroom door then came back, slipping her arms into her robe with a washcloth in her hand. She sat down on the bed next to me again and dabbed at my chest.

"Artie, I thought I..."

She shook her head. "You didn't."

The warmth of the cloth soothed my mind more than my skin. I took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, counting to calm myself. As my heart settled, my eyes started to wander up the slope of her neck to her bed tousled curls to her blue eyes; their focus concentrated lower on my chest. Maybe she was just being attentive, but it seemed like she was still avoiding my gaze.

"We haven't really talked," I whispered, barely audible.

Artemisia's thick brows furrowed, but her eyes remained on the wound. "Talk... About?"

"Anything. Everything. Us. The three of us."

A soft smile slipped across her face. She glanced over at a very peaceful Desirae sleeping away next to us.

"We made like the trinacria, the legs of the nymphs." She gestured in the air the triangle that symbolized Sicily. "It was beautiful."

All three of our bodies entwined just hours ago flashed through my head. I couldn't hold back a smirk.

Artemisia mirrored me. "The three of us are very good together, no?"

"Sure now, but in the morning?"

She shrugged. "In the morning we go back to Sicily. Together."

I already knew I couldn't, not with the red notice, but that was actually the least of my concerns right now. I wasn't the only one whose freedom was in question. "And what will Lu say about that?"

Artemisia's eyes flicked up to mine for a fleeting second before falling back to my chest. She wiped at the blood on the harness. Her brows wrinkled again as the wet cloth slid against the leather, but I couldn't read her mind. It wasn't like her to be so quiet. To not have some witty response.

She handed the cloth to me to wipe my hands, then reached up to caress the wound again.

"Do they need fixed?" I asked.

"Hmm?" She glanced back up at me.

"My stitches. I can have Chaya restitch it. I'm sure she's lurking somewhere nearby."

Artemisia leaned past me to glimpse out onto the open balcony. "Oh, no. The ehh, bleeding has stopped."

Desirae stirred with a groan next to us.

"Aww, mischina." Artemisia pulled the satin sheet up around Desirae and patted her ass.

"I can't believe she drank that much," I laughed quietly. "She's so gonna be hanging tomorrow. Regretting all of this, I'm sure."

Artemisia's eyes finally held mine. "And will you?"

"I—" I hesitated to answer. Not because I regretted any of it. But because her question felt deeper than just the words. "Never, Artie." My thumb traced circles over her knee. "Not any of it."

Somehow, she managed to softly smile without her dimple showing. Her legs slid off the bed away from me and she stood up to walk over to the door.

Was that not what she wanted to hear?

"Artemisia?"

She glanced back at me from the doorway. "Do you want a coffee?"

"A coffee?" I stood up to follow her. "What time is it?"

"Stay. I will make you a coffee."

I wanted to follow her, but it didn't feel like she wanted me to chase her this time. She was acting strange, like her guard was up. But maybe I just didn't know this version of her. Watching her disappear, I sunk back down onto the mattress. The leather harness tightened around my ribs.

As I reached back to unbuckle the strap, the crack of light beneath Lucia's door caught my eye again. I glanced into the empty hallway before turning to look back at Desirae. She was snoring away, completely out. Standing up, I wobbled slightly, still a bit drunk as I crept over to the door.

The bobby pins I had used to break into Lucia's room earlier rested against the edge of the rug and the wooden floor. I squatted down to pick them up. Then quickly stopped myself.

Just wait for Artemisia to come back.

She would come up with a plan.

She always had a plan.

A shadow crossed the keyhole, stealing my attention.

But I refused to peek.

The faint smell of oil paint wafted through the door. I twirled the bent bobby pins in my fingers and glanced back towards the hallway. The mansion was quiet. The soft synthetic music no longer played. No moans echoed in the hallway.

I stood back up, grabbing the knob for support. My mind buzzed. Before I even realized what I was doing, I had already picked and unlocked the door. My body was reacting faster than my head. I took a deep breath to stop myself from turning the handle.

But the old wooden door swung open with a soft creak.

Lucia stood with her back mostly turned to me, facing her easel, still in her evening gown and necklace. I took another breath and gathered myself before venturing through. Carefully and quietly, I pulled the door shut, making sure it locked behind me.

Lucia didn't turn around, eyes focused instead on her subject ahead of her. "I've been waiting for you, love. Did you enjoy yourself tonight?"

As I neared, my buzzed brain began to put together the brushstrokes of paint on her canvas. A long curved sword rested against the arm of the gold velvet sofa. I followed its gleam that paralleled two pale legs, crossed, up the body of a cerulean satin gown, following until I met eyes with Charlene. Painted Charlene. The real Charlene was not present in the setup. But she wasn't the only one in the painting.

Charlene's hand delicately laid atop Georgiy's frozen severed head that rested on the sofa, staring at me now.

I swallowed my disgust, remembering to answer Lucia. "I did." Slowly, I slinked behind her. Her head turned to glance down over her shoulder before returning to the painting. I watched closely as she strategically layered the paint onto the canvas, working on the now opaque eyes of Georgiy. "I didn't realize you're a lefty."

"Just like you," she murmured. "Though, life has forced us both to be ambidextrous at times. Especially when our hands are full."

She wasn't wrong. Since being shot, I had mainly been using my right hand without even thinking about it. Like I had in highschool when my arm was broken. Even tonight, with Artemisia and Desirae. My head slowly turned to Artemisia's painting of Judith over Lucia's bed. The direction of the blood spray had indicated a right-handed killer.

"And Artemisia, she played nice with you both?"

The way she said her name was almost a taunt.

I inched back towards her and pressed my lips just behind her ear. My hands roughly wrapped around her waist. Her breath caught, paintbrush froze.

"Kirby, I told you, I don't play at my own parties."

"The party ended at one. It's nearly three."

In the mirror, I caught her trying to conceal her smile. "So it is."

I let go of her waist and watched as she exhaled. Her paintbrush went back to the canvas, reapplying the same stroke three or four times. She seemed intrigued. I slipped past her, interrupting her sightline to wander over to the sofa.

"Your composition is a little flat," I murmured, checking out the sword specifically. It looked to be medieval. Long slender blade with just a slight curve, only sharp on the one side. My fingers slid around the cold steel handle.

As I lifted the sword away from the sofa, Lucia let out an irritated sigh. She plopped her brush into the bottle of turpentine in defeat. "You are worse than Artemisia."

"God, you have no idea," I mumbled, eyeing up the blade as it hit the dim light. It was certainly heavier than I expected, but not so much that it was unwieldy. I swung it down into the empty space next to the sofa, then did a slice in the air.

"It's called a coltellaccio," Lucia stated. "And supposedly, one of Caravaggio's."

"Interesting."

I carried it over to Lucia's bed and tossed it onto the comforter, then went to her dresser. Rummaging through her drawers, I found all sorts of fun accessories.

"Kirby," she turned with her arms folded across her chest, "what do you want?"

"What do I want?" I held up a thick, black, shiny, foot-long dildo and gave it a good jiggle.

"I'd be happy to lend you some toys."

I tossed the dildo back into her drawer and went to the next one. My fingers finally slid over the coarse hemp rope she had brought out earlier. I inspected it carefully, guessing it to be about thirty feet. Lucia's eyes lit up, her crossed arms loosened with interest. I threw the rope onto the bed with the sword and sat down on the edge of the mattress.

"What do you want, Lu?"