It’s a nice thought, but I wonder if it could possibly be that easy.
I just hope it is.
For his sake.
And for mine.
Chapter thirty-one Caterina
The Courtyard is neutral ground. Ouronlyneutral ground, agreed and shaken on by each of the five dons. We are not permitted to harm another person within its boundary. If it wouldn’t be seen as weak, I could spend all day, every day, here, dump myself here with a fucking tent and a blow-up mattress and nobody would be able to challenge it,il bacio della mortebe damned.
Dom even suggested it, despite knowing as well as I do that I would lose every bit of respect I’ve earned over the years for such a cowardly move.
The space immediately around it, though, that’s fair game.
The attempt is sloppy as hell. I hear him coming from at least ten paces, his breathing uneven, feet crunching through leaves. Dom tenses, but I step away from him and draw my dagger from my sleeve, keeping it in front of me.
He throws himself out from behind a fucking bush. The yell catches in his throat as I spin, and his throat lands directly on mypointed blade, sliding into it as easily as a well-cooked steak. His face contorts into a grotesque gurgle, as though he can’t quite understand what’s happening. A line of blood makes its way out of the corner of his lips, still dripping as I yank the dagger back with vague disgust.
“That was fucking terrible,” I croak as he collapses. “Does nobody have any fucking style?”
A slow clapping makes me turn. Giovanni Fusco stands in the center of the Courtyard, alone. He lowers his hands, and there’s not a shred of care in him for the Asante lying dead at my feet. “Gio. I’m beginning to get a little concerned about the quality of your current intake.”
“Glory hunters,” he says, spreading his hands. “But they serve their purpose.”
Ah, yes. Of course.
Wearing me down. Physically. Mentally.
And then, when I start to stumble, to tire of the constant watching, the real attempts will begin. And the hunt starts in earnest.
Wonderful.
Matching his movement, I spread my own arms in invitation. “I’m right here. Care to try your hand?”
Dom almost vibrates with tension when I tilt my head, silently telling him to get back.
This is between me and the man who strolls across the Courtyard towards me.
“Not quite yet,” he murmurs, his eyes moving to my neck. “But soon. I’ll have my pound of flesh from you, Caterina. And we have plenty of time.”
“Fine.” Dropping my arms, I take a step over the invisible line until I’m standing on the cobbled stone. “I have a proposition for you.”
“I have no interest in negotiation,” he says, his tone bored. “Is that all?”
Standing my ground, I lift my chin up. “You’ll have an interest in this one. I was sorry to hear of your financial difficulties.”
For the first time, I see a crack. “What difficulties.”
His voice is flat, but there’s something there. I choose my words carefully.
If I’m not careful, I have a feeling I won’t leave here without a bullet in my skull and fuck neutral ground. A feeling that Giovanni Fusco would rather go down in a hail of bullets than concede a single damn thing to my family.
So for once, I do the opposite of what I’ve always been taught.
Never show weakness.
“I don’t want this, Gio,” I whisper. His eyes sharpen. “I’m tired of watching people die. And I know you don’t want to hear it, but I’m sorry. So fucking sorry about Nicoletta.”
