Behind her, Cecile lingers. And this time, my lips do twitch. The swelling on her face, the telltale trace of blood beneath her nose, is difficult to miss.
Whispers break out as eyes move between the two women. Caterina stands tall, even as Cecile cowers before Salvatore with the air of someone whoknowsthey’ve fucked up.
My uncle’s favored whore may have taken Cat through the dungeon on their way here, but she stands there as though fresh from a summer walk. No hint of a dent in her stoic demeanor.
The only trace I’ve seen that she was down there at all was when she looked at me.
It’s been a long time since I felt the emotion currently churning in my gut.
Shame.
Salvatore settles back in his chair, leaving her standing there. A silent stand-off ensues, and the longer it continues, the angrier he gets.
Finally, he beckons Cecile to him with a crook of his finger. She shoves past Cat, her lip already trembling with excuses and apologies as she leans down to whisper in my uncle’s ear.
Everyone pauses, even them, at the drawled, mocking words that ring through the quiet. “Did your mothers never teach you that it’s rude to whisper?”
Despite myself, my eyes widen.
I glance down at Salvatore to gauge his response. His scarred hand flexes, stretching and closing as he watches her. A murmur to Cecile has her scurrying away, her eyes lighting up with excitement that tightens my chest as I watch her disappear through the crowd.
Caterina… begins towhistle. Tuneless and loud, before she sighs. “This is a fucking awful party, Asante.”
I can barely breathe as her voice carries. In the crowd, a drunken laugh is quickly silenced.
Salvatore taps his fingers against the chair. I wait – weallwait – for the explosion, but he just smiles at her. Almost indulgent.
Behind her, Cecile reappears.
My blood runs cold.
Salvatore stands, making his way down the two concrete steps to her side. Cat goes still as he lifts a bronze curl, rubbing itbetween his fingers. “Cecile did a decent job cleaning you up, at least.”
The revulsion is clear on her face as she steps back. Salvatore nods at Dario, and he beckons two soldiers forward.
She barely flinches as they grab her, her eyes locked on my uncle as he trails his fingers through her hair. Down.
The abhorrence I feel is matched only by her own expression. It flattens, her voice cold. “Don’t touch me.”
Salvatore ignores the words. She twists, but the soldiers hold her in place as he pushes the gauzy white material aside, baring more of her skin. “There it is. Cecile mentioned your little tattoo.”
Cecile smirks.
“We have a little initiation ceremony of our own here.” Salvatore stares at her skin. Traces his finger over the wingspan of the crow spanning her upper breast and up towards her shoulder.
A smile tugs at his lips. Anticipation. “Consider it a wedding gift,wife. A reminder of your new station.”
Dread numbs my fingers, my chest, as he turns to me. I knew it was coming. Prayed that it wouldn’t.
I don’t know why I even bothered. There is no god here, in this fucking hell-forsaken place. Something I learned years ago.
I smooth the thoughts away as I step forward. Cecile almost skips to me before she sets the bucket down, the bronze rod already in place. A frown appears between Caterina’s eyes as they flicker between the metal and my face. For the first time, I see uncertainty there, as I walk to stand in front of her.
I steel myself for what happens next. “Acetone?”
My voice is cold. As cold as the liquid bubbling furiously in that bucket, a mixture of acetone and dry ice. Cecile tosses me a cloth, and I take the bottle from one of the soldiers.
Cat jerks against the hands gripping her as I step forwards. Her eyes are burning, shimmering shades of amber and flame. “Don’t youtouchme.”
