Like my rage.
“There,” I said hoarsely. “Now, where the fuck is my husband?”
When Nico and Gabriel exchanged a look over my head—a silent conversation I didn’t have the patience for—I threw the glass against the wall, glass shattering, blood scent saturating the air.
“We don’t have time for this. Where the fuck is my husband?” I demanded. “Tell me, or I’ll go to the palazzo and ask my uncle myself.”
“You’re supposed to be dead, princess.” Nico moved to block the door. “And you need to stay dead.”
“Still not answering my question,” I snapped, that vine tightening and tightening until I could barely breathe. “Where is he, Nico? Tell me, or I swear, I will find out myself.”
“We’re not sure,” Gabriel drifted closer, the scent of freshblood hanging around him, and my eyes dipped to his wrist, where he’d had his sleeve rolled back, where two fresh punctures glistened. “And until we have proof, we’re not floating some half-assed theory past you.” A slight smile curved his lips. “We know how you love to take matters into your own hands,bella.”
I swung my legs over the side of the bed and sat up fully, the room tilting.
“I’ve been known to exercise caution.Occasionally.” But I recognized they might be right about my impulse control right now. “I would do anything to get Dante back. But I swear, if you tell me where he is, I will not make a move. I just…I have to know.”
“The penal colony,” Gabriel’s voice was quiet, “We think he was taken to The Fossa. My father had an… understanding with the male who runs the pits, and since that was his solution fifty years ago… we think he approached them again.”
“The Fossa,” I repeated, my throat thick.
The place he never spoke of, because the scars were so deep. The place he’d barely survived.Horror slithered into my bones like a chill I’d never get rid of.
“The real problem… we don’t know where it is,” Gabriel admitted. “Draconi recruits are taken in and out of there blindfolded, and the penal colony doesn’t appear on any map. The place doesn’t exist on any official record.”
“It’s somewhere hot, where it never rains. Arid desert. Sand and stone.” Nico slanted me a look. “Before you get it in your head to go looking, I was there for five years, and that isallI know.”
“We’ve narrowed our possibilities down to several regions, but this is a well-guarded Dynasty secret.” Gabriel’slips were in a tight line. “If my father knows, he’s never told me their location.”
“What about Severin?” I asked Nico. “Since the fighting pits are required Draconi training grounds, he’d know where they are, right?”
“Severin doesn’t know any more than me. Recruits are taken from our training center with hoods over their heads by The Fossa’s personal guards. The hoods only come off once they reach the pits. All three dynasties use The Fossa as a dumping ground for criminals. The worst of the worst.”
I reached up and rubbed my chest, trying to ease the ache.
My husband was back in the place he’d fought tooth and nail to escape. A place that had almost destroyed him. Turned him into… well, I’d only gotten a glimpse of that side of Dante, but it had stripped away everything decent and left nothing but the beast underneath.
And if I knew my husband, he was fighting because he would never go quietly into whatever fate his enemies forced upon him.
I would fight just as hard to bring him back.
“Show me these maps of yours. Giovanni had international interests I helped him negotiate. Maybe there’s some overlap between his business dealings and Marcello’s. If we could narrow the possibilities down to two or three locations, we’ll save time.”
And save my husband.
And for the first time in two days, Nico’s smile held a glint of real, vicious satisfaction.
“Come down to the kitchen, principessa.” He grinned as he offered me his hand. “And we’ll show you everything.”
EPILOGUE
GABRIEL
The black boats floated silently on the glass-like lagoon.
A slow, silent file of lacquered obsidian skiffs gliding up to the private dock, where our family crest was carved into every possible surface, as if my sire was compelled to stamp ownership on everything within his domain, including me.
Their antique lanterns burnished the top of the black water with gold—mourning flames, my father called them—each wick fed with perfumed oil so the smoke would smell sweet instead of bitter.
