“No respect. No loyalty. Just violence and that goddamn superiority complex.” His voice is rising now, wine-loosened and bitter. “The boy’s a rabid dog. An animal who needs to be put down. He doesn’t understand strategy, doesn’t understand politics. Just blood and revenge and—”
“He’s not like that,” I burst out.
Dead silence from Dad.
Then he turns to look at me. “What did you say?”
Horror crashes through me.
My mind races desperately. “I mean, the Vicis are not smart enough to learn. They’re animals. You’re right.”
“You defended him. You just defended the Vicis.”
“No, I didn’t. I was agreeing with you.”
“Don’t lie to me, Adora.” He sets his wineglass down with a sharp click. The sound makes me flinch. “You said he’s not like that. Like you know him. Like you respect him.”
“I don’t! I swear it.”
“After everything he did to you.” He’s standing now, looming over me. “After he hit you and treated you like garbage, you’re defending his family? What has he promised you? What has he said?”
“Nothing! Dad, please.” I’m standing too, backing away. “I misspoke. I’m nervous about the wedding and I wasn’t thinking.”
“You weren’t thinking?” His laugh is cruel. “No, you were thinking. You were thinking about him.”
“I wasn’t! The wedding toast, remember? The poison. Five days and he’s dead.”
“A daughter of mine. My own flesh and blood taking a Vici’s side.” His voice drops to something cold and final. “Get out of my sight.”
He takes a step toward me. That’s all it takes. One step, and every survival instinct I’ve spent twenty years learning screams at me to move. I’ve negotiated with Dashamir Dervishi, but my own father is too much.
I bolt for the door, a sob rising in my throat.
That was my last chance to get Dad drunk enough to confess, and I destroyed it by defending Vincenzo.
We are both dead.
15
Vincenzo
The gothic architecture of the church soars toward heaven, and stained glass windows cast jewel-toned light across stone. Three hundred guests fill the pews. Every important family in Malus is here to witness the union of Montoni and Vici, the alliance that is meant to end with my death.
The organ music swells, and every head turns toward the doors at the back of the church. My breath stops.
Adora is devastating.
The dress. Christ, the dress she warned me about. Gleaming silk that clings to every curve, a neckline that plunges just enough to make every man in this church jealous and every woman wish they had her courage. Her honey-gold hair is swept up, exposing the graceful line of her neck, and she’s wearing the necklace I gave her, an eagle and a raven intertwined.
She walks down the aisle on her father’s arm. Agnello looks smug, soaking up the attention, playing the magnanimous fathergiving away his cherished daughter. When they reach the altar, he places Adora’s hand in mine with theatrical solemnity, but there’s a spiteful twist to his lips.
He steps back, and Adora’s eyes meet mine. For just a second, her mask slips, and I see her love for me, threaded with fear and desperation. This is the eleventh hour, and our lies are going to come crashing down at the reception. When I don’t clutch my throat and die during the toast, Agnello Montoni is going to rip me limb from limb, and Dashamir Dervishi will probably appear and join in. I’ll be fighting for my life and trying to protect my wife.
But for now, she is mine, and I am hers.
I’m going to soak up every single second of this happiness.
I squeeze her hands reassuringly, and we turn to face the priest together.
