You know why.Yes. I do. It’s because she surprises me, time and again. I can’t read or predict her, and it angers me to have a puzzle so impossible to solve. She laid out her body for me. She came for me, beneath my hands. I thought I was teaching her a lesson, showing her she’s not ready for what I must ask of her.
But she surprised me. She has guts and gumption, and what angers me above all else is that I like it.
“Tell me,” I answer Gio, breath clouding the glass. I’m grateful for the distraction, even if that distraction is my nemesis. “Where is he?”
“You’re not going to like it.”
“Spit it out.”
“Word is he’s headed north,” Gio says, tone darkening. “Word is he’s coming for you.”
* * *
A cold, violet dusk is settling over the village. Dario has driven fast, but not fast enough. Even from the road I see black cars, a fleet of them landed low and gleaming like a plague of beetles. He has some kind of fucking nerve, to show up here like this after months of radio silence.
I’m out of the car before we’re parked. My men are posted calmly at the gates and the doors, armed blatantly and wearing uniform black. I have a paid mercenary army, more or less. I’ve left a considerable number of them to guard the castle for moments just like these. But in the year since Vittorio’s death, I’ve never had an enemy simply pull up and knock at the door.
Gregorio, Vittorio’s old friend, stands smiling at the wheel of a gleaming black Lamborghini. He’s a little older than me, shimmering with sleek, tasteful wealth. A heavy silver watch, chains looped around his neck. Despite the snapping cold, he wears only a black sweater, matching hair slicked against the back of his skull. His eyes are fjord-blue, crystalline and hollow, and his smile is a scythe.
“Santo,” he says, straightening and throwing his arms wide, like we’re old friends. “Welcome home, brother.”
“You’re not my brother,” I say in sharp Italian, flexing my fists to keep from breaking his teeth in right here. Dario is at my side, hand on the glock at his hip. Gregorio easily has two dozen men with him. I recognize sons and cousins of great families, those that were once loyal to mine. Hatred hollows me. “What the fuck are you doing here?”
“Come now, Santo. That’s hardly in spirit of the famous Amata hospitality. Invite us in. Warm us at your hearth, won’t you? Feed us at your table.” Gregorio flicks a cigarette from his pocket. Machine-like, one of his men extends a light. Gregorio’s near-white eyes flick to one of the battlements, a window there filled with a now-familiar silhouette. Dani quickly vanishes, pale as a specter. “Pass around your bride so we can all have a taste.”
Amatas do not start wars; but we finish them.Vittorio’s voice in the back of my head is the only thing that keeps me from bashing in Gregorio’s skull on the drive. I see white, picturing his hands on her, his mouth, his cunning smile.
“My life here is none of your concern,” I manage, my voice a low growl.
Gregorio chuckles, blowing smoke from the corner of his jackal-like smile. “You sound defensive. I have to admit, I’m surprised. You never did strike me as a family man, Santo. But if some American girl has got you twisted around her finger—”
“What,” I spit, cutting him off, “are you doing here?”
Gregorio’s amusement withers. He grinds the butt of his cigarette underfoot, slides his hands into his pockets like he’s got no cares in the world. “Word is you’re sniffing around the new blood. Building some kind of peasant army.” He chuckles coldly. “I’m here to advise you to stop.”
“Fuck you,” I say, not shaken in the least. I itch for the pistol in my waistband. What I’d give to see this motherfucker bleed out, twitching, on the same ground where he betrayed my brother. “The Amatas haven’t taken orders since their house was built. I’m not going to start now.”
“Big difference these days though, isn’t there? Back then, there was a family. An empire. Now there’s just, well,” Gregorio shrugs. “You.”
“You wanna go to war,” I say, taking a step toward him. He straightens. “Let’s go to fucking war.”
He stands to full height, takes a step toward me. We’re eye to eye. He’s not smiling anymore. “As a professional courtesy, I’m giving you a warning.”
“You? As who?”
“As the new king, man.” He throws his arms wide. “Look around you, Santo. The world is changing. I may not have royal blood, but I’ve got the army, I’ve got the cash, I’ve got the country. I don’t wanna spill Amata blood. Not after so much of it has already been soaked into the very earth we stand on.”
I grit my teeth, feel rage curling red at the edges of my vision.We don’t start wars, little brother.I try to anchor myself in Vittorio’s voice.
But Vittorio isn’t here.
“Quit calling up the banners,” says Gregorio, snide smile back in place. “Give your loyalty over. Let the hounds run back into the woods.” He jerks his chin at my men, aligned like columns around the façade of the castle. “Lay down your arms, and we’ll call the threat neutralized, right?”
“Fuck you,” I repeat, closing any remaining space between us. “I’m not afraid of you. Traitors don’t scare me. They just piss me off. You’ll get what’s coming to you, Gregorio. You and every house that turned against mine.”
“Are you threatening me?”
“Was that not crystal fucking clear?” I don’t blink as I stare him down, and I smell his fear, a quick, harsh whiff of it, like a hound on point for blood. “When all this shit is done, your name will be erased. I won’t even leave a memory of you. And if you ever show up like this again, I’ll bury you and every single one of your little turncoat friends.”
