Saturnino released Imelda and drew back from her. “Pack all of your belongings. Leave the palazzo, and never return. You have half an hour. Never let me see you again. I won’t be responsible for what will happen if I do.”
Imelda glanced at her Pietro, still unmoving. “I won’t leave without him.”
“You’ll have to, because I’m notcarryinghim for you,” Saturnino said coldly. “Get the hell out.”
Imelda picked up the hem of her skirt and bolted out of the room.
Saturnino turned toward Ravenna, his eyes latching on to the bruising around her neck. His expression darkened, and he looked ready to chase after Imelda.
“I’m fine,” Ravenna whispered. “And everyone is responsible for their actions. No matter who they are, no matter what they’ve been through. It’s all a part of being human.”
“Ravenna, Iknow.” He rubbed his eyes. “But I’ve lost all patience with people who are trying to kill you.”
A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. “There was a time when you wanted to kill me, too.”
Saturnino lowered his hand and looked at her. He opened his mouth, but then his eyes widened in horror. He lunged toward her, shoved her off to the side. Ravenna caught the glimmer of a blade before she roughly landed onto the bench, the room spinning. There was the awful sound of a knife sinking into flesh, followed by a guttural moan.
It took her a moment to understand the battle being fought a few feet from her. Saturnino had Pietro on the ground. Pietro was thrashing, but held in place by a firm knee on his chest. The firelight from the torches spilled onto Saturnino’s pale face, cold and terrible. Hedisplayed no emotion, only a cool precision in subduing his opponent.
“Who are you?” Saturnino snarled.
Pietro continued thrashing, but Saturnino’s knee would not budge. “Where is Imelda? What have you done to her?”
“She’s safe,” Ravenna said. “We let her go.”
Pietra let out a hoarse, disbelieving laugh.
Saturnino yanked the slim dagger from out of his side. Blood poured from the wound, silvery blue. He angled the weapon under Pietro’s jaw. “What family are you from?”
Pietro tried to spit at Saturnino, but he missed. It dribbled down the side of his own cheek. “Porco demonio.”
Saturnino arched a brow. “I’m not the devil’s spawn, I assure you.” Then he leaned down, pressing the flat of his hand on the gash on Pietro’s thigh.
Pietro howled, a pitiful, wounded noise that gutted Ravenna. “Saturnino—”
“Stay out of it,” Saturnino snapped. He pressed his hand down harder, and Pietro screamed. “Yourname.”
“Pazzi, Pazzi!” Pietro sobbed.
“That’s what I thought,” Saturnino said coolly.
Pietro’s hand slid outward, reaching for a weapon, a discarded rasp. Ravenna let out a cry of warning and darted forward. Saturnino shifted, placing his full weight on top of Pietro’s chest. The snap of Pietro’s ribs breaking rent the air. Pietro roared, frantically struggling to break free, the rasp in his hand. He swung toward Saturnino’s face.
Saturnino’s blade flashed. Pietro went still. Saturnino stood, lifting his gaze to Ravenna. She swayed and he reached her in three strides, wrapping his arms around her. He brought her close to the long line of his body, holding her upright. “Ravenna,” he murmured. “Did I hurt you?”
“I’m—” She lifted her chin, blinked up at him, unable to form a reply. The sight of Pietro’s blood pooling beneath him made her head spin.
“Don’t look at him.”
She clenched her eyes, tears streaking down her cheeks.
“Dio,” Saturnino whispered. “This is torture.”
“What?” She opened her eyes.
“Seeing you cry,” he said hoarsely. “What do I do? How do I make you feel better?”
“You’ve never comforted anyone before?”
