I hurt her.
An apology clawed up my throat.I needed to tell her how much I…
“Ah, there you are, my friend.” Rocco stepped between us, his eyes dancing with malice. “My daughter was reminding me of our long history together.” He clapped his hands again, and the entire ballroom pivoted, their full attention swinging back to the spectacle he curated.
I’m sorry, I mouthed as he launched into yet another speech.
And Ember… wasn’t even looking at me. She smiled up at Nico, his arm around her waist as the two of them were swallowed up by the glittering throng gathering closer, eager for round two.
They wanted more spectacle. They wanted more blood.
Tonight’s entertainment had been served up on a silver platter at the expense of my wife’s pride and dignity. I’d been played for a fool tonight, I realized, as Valeria reclaimed her place beside me, my entire body repulsed by her presence.
And the only thing I wanted—more than vengeance against my father—was for my marriage to be real.
For Emberline to look at me the same way I felt about her.
Totally, completely in love.
43
EMBERLINE
By the time the sun broke over the city, I’d already put over thirty knives through Dante’s face.
His pretend face, anyway.
The training room was cold enough, my breath ghosted in front of me, my bare feet gripping the scuffed mat. At some point, someone—Dante, obviously—had tacked a rough sketch of a target onto the far wall. I’d improved it this morning with a few strokes of charcoal.
Broad shoulders. Smirking mouth.
Lying, turquoise eyes.
My fourth knife missed one of those eyes by a hair and buried itself in his forehead with a satisfyingthunk.
“Come on, Emberline,” I muttered. “You’re better than this.”
The muscles in my right shoulder and thighs burned from hours of repetition. Good. I wanted every part of me to ache with something other than the memory of how Valeria’s gold dress had clung to her body as she rubbed up against Dante on that godsdamned dance floor.
She’d acted as if she owned him.Like I didn’t even exist.
Another knife. Right through his treasonous throat.
If I closed my eyes, I could still see them together—her hand splayed possessively over his chest before drifting down to his waistband, his mouth quirking in that lazy,dangerous half-smile, the flash of white fangs when he’d laughed at something she said.
Motherfucker. I was clenching my jaw so tight, my entire face hurt.
Jealousy was a stupid emotion.
Useless in the grand scheme of things.
And besides,I wasn’t jealous. I had nothing to be jealous about. We weren’t together in any sense of the word except for the illusion we’d created, a smokescreen to hide behind while we both sought out our revenge.
Except… not everything felt like an illusion. That kiss, those dark, longing looks, the way Dante laughed, the way he touched me. All of that seemed real.
And the way I reacted when Valeria touched him.
I’d never felt anger so intense, so disorienting, so fucking soul-wrenching.
