I jerked back from the roof’s edge, heart slamming against my ribs as I scrambled backward, rolled to my feet, then sprinted along the ridge line. My boots blurred as I retraced my route, speeding over gabled roofs and leaping alleyways, angling for the house.
By the time I slid back through the hole in the roof and lowered the attic hatch, my hands were shaking, fury coursing through me faster than the adrenaline.
I closed everything back up, raised the wards, and raced down to my bedroom.
Stripping off my boots, I dove beneath the cold covers, then rolled onto my side facing the door and forced my body to relax, betrayal hammering against my ribs as I pretended my fucking husband wasn’t meetingwith the enemy.
Nico and Dante. Nico and Dante.Nico and Dante.
What did this mean? How many plots were being hatched without my knowledge, while Dante paraded me in front of the Dynasty? Did he even know who killed my father, or was that just a carrot he dangled to keep me compliant?
Trust is a luxury, I reminded myself.
I’d let myself forget that. Somewhere between thetraining room kiss and the way everything between us had begun to feel so real, I’d started to… soften.
To believe him when he claimed we were in this together.
I’d been a fool.
Every alliance had a price. Every favor could be traded away for something better. Secrets didn’t stay secrets in this Dynasty; they just changed hands.
Soft, careful footsteps landed on the stairs.
His bulky silhouette stopped, outlined in my open doorway, checking to make sure I was still right where he’d left me.
I kept my breathing slow and steady.
Then he was gone, the other bedroom door squealing faintly before closing with a click.
You were a fool,Ember.A fool to think you could trust this male because he bled into a bowl for you or because he kissed you as if you mattered.
Dante had his secrets.
And I had mine.
This is what you chose, I reminded myself.A marriage built on strategy and revenge. None of this is real, no matter how much you want it to be, and loneliness is not an excuse to become weak. My father was killed, and I deserved vengeance.
And Dante had never made any promises, other than to give me a name at the end of this.
A name I still needed, if he hadn’t been lying about that as well.
So, I wrapped my anger around myself like a blanket and pretended it kept me warm.
41
DANTE
Rocco Demente’s castle clung to the southern face of the Dolomites like it had been carved straight out of the mountain and dared gravity to argue.
From here, the fortress was a wall of black stone rising up out of the pines, windows little more than slits of amber light watching the valley below. Snow dusted every ledge and the twisting ribbon of a road, turning the world into a pale, ghostly landscape. Far away, mortal village lights flickered like dying candles—tiny, fragile, and irrelevant.
“This is excessive,” I muttered as the iron gates began to grind open. “Even Rocco can’t be this paranoid.”
Emberline’s breath hung in a pale cloud beside me. “You mean living in a virtual fortress five hundred miles from the city? I can’t believe you’d call that paranoid. He’d say he’s here for the mountain air.”
We’d materialized to these coordinates a moment ago, the freezing cold a shock after the baking heat of the city. Snow fell in lazy spirals, dusting my wife’s dark hair and velvet wrap. She tugged the fabric tighter around herself, chin lifting in that defiant way, glaring up at me with that determined set to her jaw.
Emberline was a princess worthy of a fairytale, too fucking good for the likes of me, and all I wanted to do was kiss her, when I really should be thinking about how to use her.
