Sophia tried, and failed, not to react to the words. She’d already acted like a silly damsel in distress when the fleet admiral was first shot. She’d hidden behind Tristan like a coward.

She would not let this murderer’s word affect her.

She shrugged lightly, looking down her nose at him. “I am not dead.”

“You will be, Princess.”

Her breath caught for a moment at that. He recognized her. Knew her.

“Is he a member?” she asked Mateo.

“No, ma’am.”

“Are you certain?”

“Scared you, didn’t I? I know all about you. All of you.” The Domino’s crazed gaze transferred to Tristan. “You, the knight who shouldn’t be. You’re only a knight out of pity. You’re not worthy.”

Sophia reached out to take Tristan’s hand, wanting to reassure him. He didn’t return the gesture, and she dropped her fingers back to rest against her leg.

The Domino’s gaze flicked to James. “You’re the shame of your family. A savage pretending to be a man.”

“An insult based on my ethnicity, how original,” James drawled.

The Domino blinked in surprise. Whatever cruel spell he’d been weaving with his words disappeared under James’s utter lack of concern.

Tristan snorted out a laugh. Sophia forced herself to laugh lightly and shake her head, her hair falling around her shoulders. It was a lighthearted gesture, and she hoped it would make him think she was utterly unconcerned about him.

“What is his name?” Sophia asked Mateo.

“I am the one you call Domino. I am the one who—”

Mateo cut him off. “We’re running facial recognition now.”

Again, the Domino looked peeved.

Sophia noticed that his gaze kept returning to her. She carefully didn’t look at him. “Did you tell him that he failed?”

Mateo raised one brow in question. Then his gaze hardened and he gave her a slight nod, before saying, “No, ma’am.”

“He is dying if he is not already dead.”

“Didn’t you tell him that our leader was wearing body armor?” Sophia asked.

“Lies. Lies!” The Domino was practically frothing at the mouth.

“No, I was enjoying his rant about how we are going to burn at the stake like witches. Or something.”

“He will die. He’s been dying for a year.” Now the Domino’s voice was full of menace, and spit flicked from his lips as he spoke. “The poison eating away at his body. If even a drop of the toxin touched his skin, there will be no saving him. No way to stop the reaction of the poison already in him.”

Sophia couldn’t stop herself from reacting to that. She sucked in air.

The Domino threw his head back, careless of the gun pressed into his skull, and laughed like the madman he was.

Mateo pointed at two men with his free hand. They started up the stairs.

“How were you poisoning him?” Mateo snapped.

The Domino only grinned, and kept on grinning when Mateo slammed the butt of his gun against the Domino’s shoulder.

“I will break your collarbone if I have to. And then I’ll break every other bone in your body.”

“I will never tell you.”

“Do you all drink the same water?” Sophia asked. “You all might be in danger.”

The Domino grinned, but there was no sparkle of happy malice in his eyes.

“Food?” she asked again, watching the Domino out of the corner of her eye. No reaction.

“Is he taking anything for his arthritis?” James asked.

The Domino’s smile wavered for a moment, and then he chortled, “You’ll never find the poison. You are socialist fools who will not be allowed to—”

“It’s the medicine,” Sophia said.

Two more guards ran up the stairs.

“It’s too late!” the Domino snarled. “Too late!”

Mateo reached down and hauled him up by one arm. “You will tell me everything I want to know, in time.”

“He will die. He will die!”

He’s already dead, and the repercussions will last a lifetime.

Mateo started hauling the Domino toward the doors into the great hall, when he suddenly threw his head back, his teeth clenched.

A second later he started gagging and drooling.

Mateo snarled, “Cyanide capsule!”

Three guards rushed forward.

Sophia swallowed hard. Reminded herself that she was a member of Italy’s military. That she was an officer of the law.

And she dealt with art crimes, not blood and death. She wasn’t ready to watch another person die, even if it was their enemy.

“Tristan, James,” she whispered. “I think I’m going to faint. Don’t let me faint.”

James wrapped one huge arm around her waist as Tristan sheathed his sword. James started hauling her toward the front door.

“In here,” Tristan said. “There’s a waiting area.” They ducked into a small alcove off the foyer, and Tristan opened the narrow door there. It was so small that James had to turn sideways and duck to get in.

They found themselves in a small, comfortable room that looked almost like the waiting room in a very expensive doctor’s office. There were narrow couches on facing walls, a coffee table with artfully displayed books about the history of the Isle of Man, and a small table bearing a kettle, selection of tea bags, and a single-serve coffee maker.

She stared at the single-serve coffee maker. Why would anyone do that to coffee?

“Sophia?”

Who would want to drink terrible coffee from a plastic machine? She’d tried it once. It had tasted like stagnant, lukewarm water.

“Sophia.”

Her right hand was enveloped by James’s and he rubbed the back of her hand briskly with two fingers. The unexpected motion startled her out of her fixation on the coffee machine.

“Sophia?”

“Yes, yes, yes. Thank you. I’m…I’m better now.”

Tristan headed for the coffee machine. “I’ll make you some coffee.”

“No!” she practically shouted. “Tea, please.”

He nodded and kept going.

“Are you okay?” James asked. He was sitting beside her on one of the couches, his big body beside her both crowding and protecting.

“Yes. I am… I am not used to seeing death.” She shook her head. “I am a Carabinieri, I should have…”

“Aren’t you an art cop?” James asked.

She deflated a little. “Yes.”

“Then you shouldn’t be used to seeing death.”

“You are a curator of coins. You did not faint.”

“First of all, neither did you. Second of all, I played pro rugby. The inside of a scrum is like the bowels of hell, and I saw plenty of blood.”

Tristan returned with a white ceramic cup of tea. “I’m sorry. All they have is bagged.”

“Philistines,” James said with a smile.

Instead of lightening her mood, the comments only made her more anxious. “Tea. You drink tea. I drink coffee.”

Tristan and James exchanged a look.

“We’re married. I don’t know how to make tea without a tea bag. You—you were willing to give me instant coffee.”

Tristan took a seat on the coffee table, facing her and James. “Yes. We’re married.”

“Is it just me or did anyone else really not see that coming?” James mused.

Sophia started to laugh. Then she could not stop laughing. She leaned into James, the cup of tea vibrating in her hand. Tristan took it from her, removed the tea bag, and started drinking.

When Sophia finally calmed, she started to sit up, but James wrapped an arm firmly around her, keeping her in place.

Sophia’s blood heated, remembering the look she’d shared with James the night before. What she’d thought was just flirtation for the sake of flirtation would turn into something more. She guessed James would be a thorough, inventive lover. Tristan, in all his stalwart nobility, could be either precise and slow, or maybe he would loosen the reins of control in the privacy of the bedroom.

Her nipples pebbled inside her bra, and she remembered reading somewhere that death could be an aphrodisiac. After seeing death, the natural human need was to be reminded you were alive.

“We’re married,” she said again.

Tristan looked at them and raised a brow. “We have to tell our admirals. Do you think we should tell them before or after we tell them we were in the room when the fleet admiral was murdered?”

Sophia sat up. “Cazzo.”

“Bloody fucking hell,” James muttered.

Tristan sipped tea.