And as I walk out into the crisp air, the only part of me showing is the V’Arezzo heir. Cold, calm.
I pass a few of my men as I cross our section of campus, exchanging a few words with each. News of Nicoletta’s death is on everyone’s lips, but they hold back with the questions in their eyes. I still hear the Corvo name whispered, but they stop short of questioning me directly as I pass the V’Arezzo boundary, striding straight over the common ground into the Corvo territory.
And as luck would have it, the first man I see is exactly who I’m looking for.
I spot him before he sees me, walking along with his eyes on the ground, brow furrowed in that moody bastard way he pulls off like perfection. Pausing, I wait until realization that he’s not alone tightens his shoulders and his eyes flick up.
Domenico Rossi pauses, his eyebrows shooting up. “Back for another round, V’Arezzo? What the fuck did I just say?”
But I’m in no mood for fucking around. “I need to speak with you.”
He observes me for a moment, taking in the expression on my face, before he tilts his head. “Walk with me.”
I don’t miss that it’s in the opposite direction to Cat’s apartment. He takes me back over the boundary line, heading for the neutral ground of the Courtyard, and I scoff. “Please.”
“They exist for a reason,” he points out. “Otherwise we’d be constantly fighting over ground.” We stop in the shade of the oak tree. “Whatever it is you have to say, V’Arezzo, spit it out.”
It seems we’re both in a similar mood. “Joseph Corvo had Nicoletta Fusco murdered.”
I watch him carefully, spotting the tiny jerk of surprise. He covers it well; I’ll give him that. But not well enough. He stays silent, waiting me out. Neither confirming nor denying.
Domenico Rossi knows how to play the game, but I’m not here to dance around.
“Listen to me, Rossi,” I say quietly. Two Morelli men walk past us, eyeing us and muttering between themselves. “Giovanni Fusco wants blood. His sister is dead, and he wants revenge. There’s an easy target for him right here. A double hit. Not just Corvo’s heir, but his daughter too. An eye for an eye.”
He stiffens, his mouth opening.
“Whatever you think of me,” I say, cutting off the words. “We both have the same priorities.”
He scoffs. “Don’t ever put me and you in the same bracket, V’Arezzo. Cat’s nowhere near your list of priorities. She’s your fucking current piece, and when you get tired, you’ll move on. She deserves better than a piece of shit like you.”
“Someone like you, you mean?” He eyes me, so full of resentment and jealousy he’s practically burning up with it. “You’re so fucking obvious it’s laughable, but don’t ever assume you knowanythingabout my relationship with Caterina.”
I don’t expect the snort of laughter, the sarcasm. “If you only knew.”
Pinching the bridge of my nose, I sigh. “If you two braid each other’s hair and swap secrets about your sex lives, that’s your call. But there’s a fuckingtargeton her head, Domenico. The threat is very real. All of this university bullshit they’re putting us through? It’s the background forwar. And she’s right in the fucking middle of it.”
Any amusement wipes from his face. “I’ll keep her safe, V’Arezzo. What areyougoing to do? If they come for her, where will you be? Getting in their way, or pushing the knife in yourself?”
My lips press together. The answer should be obvious, but it’s not that easy.
Not with my father’s words beating a rhythm in my chest. Rossi gives me a grim look, shaking his head. “Didn’t think so. Like I said – you don’t fucking deserve her. Thanks for the warning. I’ll take it from here.”
As he walks away from me, I tug down the cuffs on my shirt. “I’ll do what I can. That’s all I can promise.”
Rossi pauses. “If you’re not willing to burn the world down for her, V’Arezzo, get out of the way and make room for somebody who will. That’s what she deserves. Not a half-assed offer which means fuck all when shit hits the fan.”
Deep –deep– down, I know that Domenico Rossi is a good man. Maybe he would be the type of man that Cat needs. Someone to stand at her side, without reservation. Without the barriers thrown in our way by virtue of our birth.
“Not all of us have that luxury.” My voice is hoarse. “So count your blessings, Rossi.”
Chapter eleven Giovanni
The rain is everywhere. Thick, brutal sheets of water hammer our small group from above, as though the sky is grieving with us.
The muted, choking wails of my mother are only just loud enough to be heard over the downpour. They’ve quietened over the last hour, as though her throat is on the verge of giving up. Raw and broken as she clings to the wooden box, crushing the flower displays someone placed on top.
Nicci was the best of us. Even Rosa would agree. The middle child, the creative one. First to dance in the rain, first to start the singing at our family dinners. First to laugh and first to open her arms for a hug. When she wasn’t on the move, she was perfectly still, curled up in a corner with one of her ridiculous romance books.
