I then spend a good fifteen minutes swearing at and then trying to cover the fucking bite mark on my neck.
I’m still cursing under my breath when I reach the Courtyard.
The crowd has already gathered, silent and still as I weave between them. A path miraculously opens up, and I pause at the edges.
The Crows are circling.
V’Arezzo. Morelli. Asante. Fusco. More are filtering in behind me, their footsteps echoing in the harsh silence as the crowd watches the Crows demonstrate exactly what we do to traitors.
Anton’s eyes are still open, the white lined with cracks of red as he lays on the ground at the base of the northern red oak tree that stands in the middle of our campus. Blood continues to pool beneath his head, a cushion against the stone slabs.
Maybe elsewhere, at another college or university, students might be whispering. Shocked, crying, asking why the fuck there’s a body displayed in public.
But not here.
Here, the watchers are pale and silent. Understanding the warning we’re kindly giving them; in the only neutral place we have.
There are no second chances.
A dirty blonde head of hair catches my eye. Paul Maranzano marches with the Crows, his eyes dull as he looks away from his brother’s body. Dom is behind him, his eyes focused on the back of Paul’s head.
He doesn’t look at me.
Crossing my arms, I watch, blanketed in the isolation of being a predator amongst prey. The crowd gives me a wide berth.
At least, most of them do.
A low whistle sounds at my side, the low voice warmer than it should be given the circumstances. “You Crows really do know how to make an impression.”
I don’t look at him. “Morelli.”
“Caterina.” He shifts, crossing his arms to mirror mine. Dom is looking over now, the faintest edges of a frown pulling at his mouth, but he doesn’t move from his spot.
“Tell me,” Luc presses. “Do you eat them afterwards? Scavenge them?”
I turn to him then. Even I can appreciate that Luciano Morelli, heir to the Morelli crime family, is a beautiful man. He was a pretty boy, angelic even, but as a man, his wings have grown darker. His eyes almost twinkle as he meets my gaze, deep hazel eyes set against olive skin. Even the messy hawk on top of his head looks carelessly perfect, the sides carefully shaved into strong lines. The slight crook in his nose only adds to his charm.
And he fucking knows it.
“Who knows,” I say softly. “Maybe you’ll find out one of these days, Luciano.”
His jaw tightens at my not-so-subtle admonishment. Giving me a short nod, he melts back into the crowd. I scan the people around us, catching Dante leaning against a wall in the corner. His enforcer, Rocco, stands beside him, but Dante’s eyes aren’t on the Crows.
No. They’re on me, and my neck.
My hand twitches with the urge to reach up and cover the mark he made, the brand he tried to place on my skin. My make-up has enough coverage to blot it out completely. No-one will be able to see it.
My fingers flex at my side as I step forward. My Crows stop immediately, but it’s Paul I move to. His eyes are on the ground, his jaw tight and hands clenched. He flinches when I put my hand on his shoulder.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” I murmur, and he shudders. His eyes are wet when he looks up at me.
“I didn’t know—,”
I cut off his panicked explanations. “I know, Paul. Start the call.”
Comprehension fills his face, along with confusion. “But – but he was a traitor. He broke Omerta.”
His voice cracks on the last word. Paul is a new arrival, one of the youngest and newest here as acugine– a junior soldier, nowhere near made man status. Pity twists my chest. He’ll see far more than this before his time here is done. I can’t shelter him from it.
