“There are plenty of bathrooms near the main event room.”
“You must be Scarlett Fausti.” She reached out and we shook hands. “I’m a—”
“Journalist. Yes. I gathered that.”
Her eyes narrowed, knowing that I knew she’d been snooping. Most journalists didn’t have the guts to try to get dirt on the Fausti Family. This woman seemed to thrive on danger.
“This area of the palazzo is off limits to guests,” I said. “You need to—”
“I tried,” she said, sighing. “I’m lost.”
I had to find Brando. I didn’t need this distraction. But I didn’t need her finding Brando before me.
While this all played out in my mind, one of the foot soldiers went to turn down another hallway, but I signaled him before he could disappear into the shadows.
“Can you escort this woman back to the main event?”
He glared at her beneath his mask, taking her arm. She went to shove him off, but he held steady.
“Be careful,” I said in Italian. “She is curious. Make sure she gets to the main event and stays put. If she tries again, escort her out and take away her press pass.”
If she understood Italian, which I didn’t get from her, she’d know I meant business. If she didn’t understand, she’d know it as well by the tone of my voice.
“Pfft.”
Noise from the floor made me look down. Nino had found the knife and had it clutched to his chest.
“She is gone?” he whispered.
“The madwoman or the snoop?”
“Madwoman.”
“Yes,” I said. “You can get up now.”
Free hand braced against the wall, he used it to feel his way up as he rose to his feet.
“I would rather face acinghiale,” he said, eyes so swollen that not even the whites were visible anymore. “Naz is a good man. He allowed his mamma to rattle you, but he would not have allowed her to kill you.”
“Is that so? Just a drop of blood for her cause?”
He shrugged. “She is his mamma.”
Taking his arm, I led him down another hall, and then another, attempting to feel my way to the correct room.
These walls seemed to creak with history, all the voices of yesterday coming out to play in the dancing shadows. Probably drawn out by the full moon and the dramatics of the night. Every so often, the candles burning in their sconces would undulate, as if a breath had brushed past their flaming wicks.
The palazzo was special. It was close to ancient. Filled to the brim with history. Even antique swords hung behind glass along the walls.
“Oh God,” I almost cried.
“What is it?”
“Nothing.” I shook my head. “Nothing.”
There was something. The swords. When I looked at them, a cold frisson made me shiver, and my stomach turned.
I was so intent on obsessing over the swords and what the feeling meant that, when a shadow rose along the walls, I didn’t take notice of it at first.
