“You know, I could still take her from you. One wrong move, one more secret kept in the dark, and she’s gone. And this time, I won’t leave a trail for you to follow.”

Sandro didn’t look up from his drink. He swirled the amber liquid in his glass, the ice clinking against the crystal with a sharp, rhythmic sound that cut through the low hum of the jazz bar. They were sitting in a secluded corner booth of a place they used to haunt in their early twenties—back before the blindness, back before the inheritance wars, back when they were just two cousins trying to outrun the shadows of...