A GAME OF LIES
Enzo said carefully, his Italian accent thickening when he grew nervous, “are you sure you’re all right? That doesn’t sound like a normal cold.”
Montez dabbed at his nose, irritation sparking in his steel-blue eyes. “It’s nothing. Probably the change in weather.”
Amira’s pulse jumped. The weather? It was the middle of August. Hot, oppressive, Milan’s summer clinging to every breath. She shifted slightly, her gaze sliding away to the darkened window before her guilt became too obvious.
Enzo frowned. “Forgive me, but… you haven’t come into contact with lilies, have you?” His voice dropped, serious now. “We all know how dangerous that can be for you.”
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