“It’s called acting, Excellency.”

The next evening, the performance went on. Flavia sang “Vissi d’arte”—“I lived for art, I lived for love”—with such raw anguish that the audience wept. But in the wings, she had hidden a guard’s knife.

The knife was swift. Scarpia fell without a sound.

Flavia watched from the shadows as a firing squad raised their rifles. She screamed, but the sound was swallowed by the echo of her own voice from the opera—the high C of a woman who had loved, killed, and lost everything.

“Because he suspects you hide Angiolotti, the escaped consul.” Luca’s jaw tightened. “And because he wants you.”