Wherever I go, I will be hunted.
As one, my senior Crows are up, flowing in solid movement as they form a line between me and the tables. Dom is up on the platform in the next instant, his voice hoarse. “Orders.”
But all I can do is stare at Gio, as he strolls around and pulls out the empty seat on the side of Luciano, dropping into it as though he hasn’t just detonated a bomb over my head.
“Cat.” Dom’s voice wavers, his head twisting as though people are going to start launching weapons in my direction. “Orders.”
Slowly, I wet my lips. Glance down to the heirs on either side of me. Dante is nearly as pale as Domenico. Luciano glances between Giovanni and I, his brow creased.
I wonder where Stefano is. When Dom grabs my arm, it snaps me out of the treacle of panic hazing over my mind.
“Sit down, Dom,” I whisper. He starts to shake his head, and I reach around for my seat. “Isaid—,” my voice hardens. “Sit down. I haven’t finished my food.”
I look at the Crows. “All of you. Stand down.”
Vincent turns his head, incredulity in his gaze.
Dishes rattle as my hand smashes into the table. “Now!”
My roar echoes through the room, propelling them into action. Dom ignores me, moving to stand directly behind my chair.
“Try to move me,” he grits out when I begin to turn. “I swear to fucking god I will carry you out andfuckthe hierarchy.”
Fine. I drag my plate towards me, stabbing my fork into the cold meat. It tastes like death in my mouth, but I force myself to chew, to swallow, to sip at my drink as if there isn’t a group of people actively plotting my death in the same room.
I eat every bite.
When I finally place the cutlery down, there’s a collective sigh of relief both behind and to the sides of me.
“Thank fuck,” Dante mutters. “Nowwill you leave?”
I take a moment to check the positioning of my weapons before I stand. Dom is there, ready to guide me through the small exit to the side, but I dodge his outstretched hand and wind around the table, ignoring his frantic curse.
More eyes, as my heels stab into the floor. The Crows are half out of their seats, uncertain and worried as their heads swivel around the room. Amie looks petrified as her head darts around, looking for threats.
But only one person gets up.
I pause as Rosa Fusco ducks under Leo’s arm, darting into my path. I hold my hand up to stop any of mine getting involved. Her eyes are lighter than her brothers. A bright, vivid, electric blue that she pins on me.
“You killed my sister.”
She can’t be more than thirteen. I keep my hands relaxed at my sides as I survey her. “I did not stop it from happening.”
Her face twists, like she’s trying to hold back tears. “She didn’t do anything to you. She never did anything to everyone.”
I take a breath. “Sometimes,” I say quietly, “bad things happen to people who do not deserve it.”
The girl considers my words. She nods.
And then she draws her head back, and spits in my face.
My head jerks back as she hisses. “You deserve everything bad. I hope you die screaming.”
“Rosa.” Giovanni’s voice is a whip, and she shrinks back, darting away to the table as I raise a hand to my face and wipe off the evidence of her hatred.
Nobody else moves as I walk out.
Too busy planning their approach to waste it on a half-assed try.
