“Princess.”

“Shut up.”

“You,” came an accusatory voice from the archway, and Jess the wild dog marched in, dragging a clearly mortified Johnny DeSerio with her.

“Oh, hello, Jess,” Jackie said with a smile. “How are you doing?”

“Don’t ‘hello, Jess’ me.”

Realizing this was bad, Toni immediately stepped in. “What’s wrong?”

“Show them,” Jess ordered Johnny.

“Ma—”

“Show them.”

“Show us what?” Toni gently urged.

“I got this email from a . . .” He studied the piece of paper he held in his hand. “Uh, Donato Mantovani?”

Immediately recognizing the name, Toni’s mother sat up straight, the bowl of popcorn barely saved from falling to the floor by a quick-handed Miss Tala. “What did he say?” Jackie demanded. “What did he say?”

“I . . . I don’t think it’s what you’re hoping for, Jackie.”

“Just tell me what he said.”

“He said, ‘I received the MP3s of your music sent by Signora Jean-Louis for my evaluation, and I can only say that your music did not offend me.’ ”

There was nearly a minute of silence before Jackie clapped her hands together and cheered, “I knew it! I knew it!”

Confused, Jess Ward snapped, “What is wrong with you, woman? How can you think this is positive?”

Undaunted, Jackie explained, “It’s incredibly positive.”

“It is?” Johnny asked.

“Do you know what he said to me about my music when I had a private audience with him? ‘What was that?’ ”

“He told me,” Cherise interjected, “that there was no shame in being a good wife and mother.”

Coop, who’d walked into the room a few minutes before, offered, “He told me that I was nearly tolerable. Sort of.”

“Wait,” Jess cut in. “Who is this guy?”

“The long-time conductor of the Milan Philharmonic,” Toni told her.

Grinning, Jackie added, “I played with the Milan Philharmonic when I was eight years old. By the time I was ten, I was playing for kings.”

“I played with the Philharmonic when I was sixteen,” Cherise added. “And with the London Philharmonic for Her Majesty, about two years after that.”

“I was nine,” Coop said. “I had my first record deal the following year.”

“Wait, wait.” Johnny gripped the piece of paper in his hand, his gaze on the floor. “So what you’re saying is . . .” He shook his head. “What are you saying?”

Jackie stood up. “That we need to get you ready. Based on that email, I think we’vegot . . . three months?”

“Maybe,” Coop hedged.

“Right. Maybe three months before you’re playing on stage for an audience in Milan.”

Johnny shook his head. “Yes, but . . .”

Jess faced her adopted son, her smile wide and bright like the sun. “Now can I get you that Stradivarius?”

“God, Ma, no!”

Livy was resting against a tree, her eyes closed, her body slowly recovering from the recent poisoning. She loved how tough she was to kill but sometimes the recovery could be a bitch. Especially when vomiting was involved. She hated vomiting.

A cool towel was pressed to her forehead and she opened her eyes expecting to see Toni, but it was that big Russian bear-tiger hybrid crouching in front of her. If she remembered correctly, Toni said his name was Barinov. Vic Barinov . . . maybe.

“You all right?” he asked.

“I’m not dead so, ya know . . . win.”

He chuckled a little. “Very true.”

“Where is everyone?”

“The living room I think. Do you want me to get Toni for you?”

“Please don’t. She’s got enough to worry about and by tomorrow, I’ll be fine. And I don’t need her fussing. I hate fussing.”

“Yeah. I could tell that about you.” He took her hand and pressed her fingers to the wet cloth, silently telling her to hold it in place. While she did, he opened up a can of ginger ale and handed it to her. “Dee-Ann was here, but she had to go. She said she’d be back later. She wants to talk to you.”

Livy sipped the ginger ale. It was wonderfully cold and just what she needed—minus the fussing from Toni and her clan. That was the best part. “Do you know what she wants?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Best guess?”

“There’s someone our organization has been searching for. A full-human hunter. Those in charge want him. Dead or alive. And they probably need you for some breaking and entering.”

“Oh.”

“You don’t seem surprised.”

“It’s what shifter Kowalskis do.” She thought a moment before adding. “And Yangs.” Her mother’s people. “We break. We enter. We steal expensive shit.”

“And mine used to tear houses off their foundations and eat the contents. The human contents. So we all have our pasts. You don’t have to be trapped by it.”

“No. I don’t. But I also don’t like full-human assholes that use us as prey. That really pisses me off.”

Grinning—and he had a very nice grin—the hybrid sat down across from her and remarked, “I’m sensing lots of things piss you off, Livy Kowalski.”