“I…” Marco looked frantically between us. “I know, that’s what I heard, too. The note made no sense.”
The room went colder. Even Nico seemed to pause, one eyebrow rising in silent question.
“Maybe it was another Dante,” I suggested.
Marco shook his head, frantic. “No. No. It was him, I swear. I tried to make the delivery, knocked at the gates, but there was no answer. I waited, then I lost my nerve and ran. I ripped up the note, dropped the pieces in the canal, and went home. Kept my head down.”
“What directions?” I prompted. “Where was this meeting supposed to take place?”
“Six nights ago. Campo San Geremia. One o’clock.”
“Convenient timing,” Nico crossed his arms over his chest. “Once we’re finished here, I’ll check it out.”
He wouldn’t find anything; we both knew that. So did Marco, his eyes snapping open, raw terror in them, the look of a male with no more cards to play.
“I’m telling you everything I know. I swear by the gods.”
I believed him—mostly. Males—petty criminals like Marco—didn’t know how to hide the big lies; they only knew how to trade them away to save their own skin. But he was also a coward, and cowards held onto the truth until it was pried loose with pain.
“Not everything,” I argued. “You could have traded those gold ducats away to any pawn shop that very night and been in the wind. But you stayed… you kept your head down… until you heard something,” I mused. “After.”
His brows knit together. “After?”
“After Enzo died,” I clarified. “You figured no one knew about your side hustle, so you stayed in Venice. Then something spooked you, made you do something desperate, like go to the tables with ten gold ducats that would bring attention to yourself and get you caught.”
His gaze slid away.
Nico leaned in, voice dropping, like the two of them shared a secret. “Tell Il Lupo Nero what he wants to know, and I’ll make it fast, Marco. No need for you to suffer, not if you help us.”
Marco shuddered, shoulders curling down, body trembling in pain. “There’s no proof. I have no proof, and it’s not like I know for sure…” He scanned our faces, hope flaring one last time before fading away.
He had betrayed the Dynasty.
Now, his best hope was that Nico kept his word.
“I heard a rumor that the assassination… wasn’t revenge. It wasn’t some rival family.” His breath came in sharp, desperate pulls. “They said the order came from inside, that Enzo’s own blood…”
“Giovanni,” I prompted.
Marco nodded violently. “Yes. Yes. I heard it twice. Two different sources. Like everyone already knew but was afraidto say it out loud.” His voice collapsed into a whisper. “I heard Enzo was ready to expose something big. He was going to the Council. Something about Giovanni… and an old arrangement gone sour.”
His eyes swung wildly between us, desperation souring the air. “I heard…” He licked his lips like a lizard. “This secret involved the Don, and your…brother.That if this got out, it would destroy the entire Dynasty. But I thought it was just a rumor… just a fuckingrumor.”
Nico straightened, his eyes locking with mine.
Rumors we could keep a lid on.
But if the underground was buzzing with talk of my brother… My gut clenched with something I seldom experienced these days.Fear.
For a moment, there was nothing but Marco’s ragged breathing and that fear, Nico waiting for me to decide what came next, his hand resting on the hilt of his knife.
I replayed the conversation I’d just had with my sire. Marcello’s distrust of Giovanni had never been as obvious as it was tonight. Did my father know for an indisputable factthatGiovanni killed Enzo?
Or, like me, did he only suspect?
Either way, I needed to keep a lid on this information. Giovanni DiRavello was an Ancient. An Ancient with an endless network of spies, six hundred years of influence, and his nephew about to inherit one of the five gilded seats of the D’Immortali Dynasty.
A boy, given a seat of power and influence he wasn’t prepared for.
