“You two go on ahead to the palazzo,” I told my uncle and brother. “I will meet you there in a few hours. I’d like some private time with father… to say goodbye.”
“It’s not safe, Em,” Luca’s eyes narrowed in warning. “You should…”
“Your sister can handle herself.” Giovanni demurred, dipping his head, his gaze flashing to the shoreline, as if he knew exactly why I was staying.
“Don’t be late, niece,” he cautioned, “and don’t leave a mess behind you.”
3
EMBERLINE
Inever got a good look at the trespassing vampire, but he left a scent trail putrid enough for me to track all the way back to the city. Barefoot because there was no way I could move fast in those ridiculous heels.
Gods, he stank. A rotting smell, as if something had decayed.
Which meant he was sick, perhaps some sort of blood disease.
Not that I cared since he’d be dead before morning.
Killing him would be a kindness, I decided, as I tracked him through the narrow alleys, gagging the entire time. I compulsively checked my one and only weapon, scolding myself for not being better prepared, for wearing this stupid dress, for installing that new security system, which had failed at the worst possible moment.
All my failings followed me deeper into the city, the tight, nauseated churning in my stomach growing worse by the minute.
Because as I dematerialized into the Castello district, and a familiar building rose up before me, I knew exactly where my target was headed. If I was right, this not only confirmed my own suspicions, but opened up a proverbial barrel of worms.
The trespasser worked for the Dominico family.
My father had only one enemy.One.
Enzo and Marcello Dominico had a rivalry that spannedcenturies, filled with betrayals and murders and a shit ton of fuckery I didn’t even want to know about.
The Sala del Giuramento was the Dominico family headquarters, a sprawling complex bigger than the Doge’s Palace, filled with luxury apartments, meeting halls, the Shadow Council chamber, and—I’d heard—a system of dungeons that stretched an entire city block, though that was probably an exaggeration.
Or not.
Sure enough, the reeking scent trail of impending death stopped at a small side door of the Sala del Giuramento. I looked both ways down the narrow alleyway before flattening my palm to the doorframe and repeating a simple unsealing charm that dropped the wards around the door long enough for me to slip through.
Thank you, Enzo.
Since I’d been inside this imposing structure a time or two for masquerade balls, trials of judgment, and the occasional debauched blood ceremony, I knew exactly where I was headed. I stopped to yank my knife out of the thigh holster before picking up the pace.
Don Marcello Dominico had inherited the Dynasty from his father Salvatore six hundred years ago, after proving himself a worthy successor. Cold, calculating, and cruel in ways only immortals could be, Marcello’s word was law, his judgment final.
Marcello and Enzo had both outlasted coups, betrayals, Napoleon’s invading forces, and the changing tides of mortal society by adapting the empire's operations—from smuggling routes in the 1600s to modern cybercrime and international weapons trafficking networks.
Time had made my father introspective.
Marcello had grown bitter and cagier.
He would have given the order to kill my father.
I even knew who had—metaphorically—wielded the knife.
Gabriel Dominico, the chosen son of Don Marcello, heir to the D’Immortali Dynasty, the stone-hearted male destined to inherit the entire Venetian mafia upon his sire’s demise.
The Dominico Empire was our deadliest bloodline, known for its brutality and efficiency. Their bloodline had ruled our Dynasty for a thousand years. For my entire lifetime, Gabriel had been the judge, jury, and executioner of this Dynasty. They called him Il Lupo Nero—The Black Wolf. Renowned for his arrogance as well as his cold brutality, Gabriel Dominico was born to rule, as their grandsire had before them.
He was untouchable, by all accounts, and not someone I should ever want as an enemy.
