“As tempting as that thought is,” I muttered. “I can’tfucking swim.”
“Amazing you never fit that into your extensive resume.” He huffed out a laugh that never reached those strange-colored eyes. “No jumping overboard then; this is my favorite suit, and I have no desire to get wet.”
My babysitter was dressed not like a soldier but as a proper Dominico male—understated, expensive black suit, long black coat, black tie. Still ruthlessly efficient, with a knife hidden in every pocket and seam. I, on the other hand, wasnotwearing white.
Plain black dress. Simple coat. Combat boots.
No lace. No jewels. No veil.
Weapons hidden in every nook and crevice, something I was waiting for Nico—Draconi soldier extraordinaire—to notice. So far, he’d restrained himself.
Clothing had been my one small rebellion—arriving in full mourning, not like a cake topper my uncle had special ordered from the local bakery. Too bad they were going to try to turn me into one.
Their mistake, I guess.
“You know you’ll have to change once we’re inside,” Nico reminded me again. “They’ve been planning this circus for days, salivating over who gets to dress you. I believe the eldest aunt and her daughter have the honors.”
“I’m well aware, Nico,” I said tightly. “You’ve told me enough times, and my ears still work. Let me savor these last moments like someone who still has a chance at a fucking life. In silence, if you don’t mind.”
He managed to stay quiet for one entire heartbeat, then he leaned down beside me, his long braid falling over the railing. “For what it’s worth,” he confided softly, “you’re not the only one walking into this with a knife to your back.”
I shot him a sideways look. “That’s your idea of a pep talk?”
“Not really,” he admitted. “But it’s the truth.”
The boat bumped softly against the private dock. The Dominico crest—wolf and crown—was carved into the stone mooring posts, the dock… everywhere I looked, as though there was any chance I might forget where I was. Beneath a sea of black umbrellas, figures waited at the top of the stairs: men in expensive suits, women in deep jewel-toned gowns, servants toward the back.
And at the center stood Don Marcello; no sign of Gabriel.
He was probably off somewhere getting drunk.
I certainly wished I was.
Nico stepped off first, reaching for me as the boat rocked slightly. “Careful, the dock is slick from the rain,” he cautioned. “Can’t have you falling and chipping the merchandise.”
I took his hand, mostly so I didn’t have to look at our audience. “Call me merchandise one more time,” I threatened softly, “and I’ll toss your smart ass in the lagoon.”
“That’s the spirit,” he said, mouth quirking. “You and I are going to get on so well,principessa.” His thumb traced over my knuckles, so lightly I might have imagined it, but coupled with the flash of heat in his eyes… I yanked my hand from his.
“I’m perfectly capable of walking on my own, thank you,” I huffed, cheeks burning as I tore my gaze away, suddenly feeling off kilter.
We climbed the stone steps together, Nico remaining a respectful half a step behind me. The throng tracked every inch of our ascent, faces expressionless. My pulse spiking, feet made of lead, I dragged myself stubbornly up those stairs, knowing I was navigating a dangerous gauntlet.
Lines of vampires flanked me as I approached thesummit, intimately aware of how close Nico stayed, of how the crowd’s greedy eyes tracked our passage. These creatures were always hungry—starving for blood, violence, and the misfortune of others.
“Signorina DiRavello.” Don Marcello dipped his head in greeting when I reached the top. His voice was smooth, polished over centuries of making us kiss his fucking ring. “Welcome to our home.” As if he read my mind, he added, “You will see my son in a few hours. It is, after all, bad luck for the groom to see the bride on her mating day.”
“Mating day?” I repeated, unsteady for a second, then remembered this was only an act.Who cared what they called thistravesty?I managed a small, appropriate smile. “I understand. Thank you for your gracious hospitality, Don Marcello.”
His gaze flicked over my dress. Plain. Black. Suitable for mourning. Something sharp flashed in his eyes. “A practical choice for traveling,” he stated mildly. “My attendants will escort you to your chambers. There is much to prepare.”
A flock of minions rushed forward, beckoned by their master’s hand.
“Nico,” he commanded. “You will remain posted outside her bower. I expect tonight’s event to proceed without incident.”
Event. Like my fate was a choreographed catastrophe.
“Yes, Don,” Nico acquiesced in a mild tone.
