“Watch your tone,girl.”
“Watch yours,stronzo,” I hissed right back. “Want to explain why you were spying on us? If you’re so innocent, then why did I track your spy all the way from our island to this very building?”
“You don’t have the first clue what you’re talking about.” He sounded so casually dismissive, my temper exploded.
“Oh, please, tell me what I’m talking about then, or better yet, tell me what I’m thinking since I’m sure in your world of male privilege, females can’t form a single coherent idea of their own.”
He just looked me up and down, in that scathing way that arrogant males used when they were so fucking sure they had the upper hand, his brilliant blue eyes hard as stones as he beckoned someone from down the hall.
A black-suited Dominico guard rushed toward us, pulling at his collar. “Yes, sire?”
“Escort our guest to the front doors. Make sure she gets back to Cannaregio safely and without incident.”
Dismissed. Like I was a fucking nuisance. “My father is dead. And the killer will answer for what they did.” I lifted my chin. “No matter who they are. Because, unlike you, I take my family honor seriously.”
Those eyes raked me over one final time, disgust burning in them like blue fire.
“Go home, piccola, and take your little knife with you.”
4
GABRIEL DOMINICO
Gods, what a cluster.
What the holy fuck was the DiRavello girl thinking, coming here, throwing around accusations like confetti?
Was she determined to become a bloodstain, just like her father?
“Did I hear voices?” Marcello husked as I stepped back into my office. “Is there a problem,figlio mio?”
“No problem at all.” I lied, wondering why I was covering for a spoiled aristocrat I barely even recognized. One who’d come here, most likely, to stab that knife into one of us in some poorly thought-out attempt at retribution.
I leaned back in my chair, the beginnings of a headache pounding in the front of my skull as I faced my sire, seated across the desk.
At night, the petroleum-tinged reek of the canals floated in through the open windows. I loosened my tie, the day’s heat still lingering in the bones of this place. There was another smell—even fouler than the reek from the constant boat traffic—I couldn’t quite place.
“The Blood Compact is in one week.” Marcello’s tone rang with six centuries of violence, a hint of old Italian before the Renaissance, and of a thousand enemies dead and a thousand truces made so no more blood wouldbe shed.
“This ceremony is… special,il mio caro figlio.” There was a careful watchfulness in Marcello’s eyes, a tenseness in his body that set my nerves on edge. “Nothing can go wrong.”
“We are ready for anything,” I insisted, trying to ignore the exhaustion lodged in my bones. “The city will be locked up tight; Draconi guards will be in place. Everything is planned, down to the timing of each family’s blood offering. There will be no unexpected surprises.”
Without the Blood Compact, our Dynasty would cease to exist.
Something told me there was more riding on this ceremony than any that had come before, and it was up to me to ensure everything went smoothly, each family swearing fealty to the Dominicos, spilling their blood in the name of honor and obedience.
We called ourselves the D’Immortali Dynasty—Dynasty of Death, and we had been in power for so long, modern vampires of Venice knew no other reality than to kiss the ring of the Dominico family.
And soon enough, that ring would be on my finger.
But… I frowned across the desk at my father. The hour was late, and Marcello should be secured on our family island behind thick stone walls and a full contingent of Dominico guards.
Not here.
Not without his ever-present protection.
Not showing up unannounced, looking like he was about to collapse.
