What a fucking twat. I’d known Paolo since he was a little, pimply-facedmoccioso, and he hadn’t changed a bit intwenty years. Still mommy’s spoiled favorite. Still a bully at heart.
Still no match for me, not even on his best day.
“Yes, he would have been proud.” I watched him swirl his thick drink, red coating the sides of the glass. “Since I am fulfilling the oath Enzo himself made, a century ago.”
“I heard he died alone.” Paolo’s lip curled back from his fangs. “I heard the DiRavello security is so pathetic that the assassin walked right in and out. It seems, Signorita DiRavello, your sire was not as clever as his reputation. Or perhaps he delved too deep into others’ affairs?”
It took everything in me not to take the bait.
Took all my strength to choke down the guilt that my failing might have caused his death.
“I highly doubt that since my sire was a careful male.” I gave him my most winning smile, wishing I could give him some terrible, deformative disease instead. “As for delving into others’ affairs… perhaps you should stick to curses and rites, Paolo, and leave the financial matters of this Dynasty to those who know how to negotiate with your betters.”
For a long moment, we stared at each other before he dropped his eyes. “I should go help my mother. There is much to prepare for tonight’s ceremony.”
“Your father would have been appalled,” Vincenzo sneered, after his brother vanished into the crowd.
We were surrounded by knots of curious vampires, but they were keeping their distance, and I was fighting to keep my temper in check.
Paolowasa blustering little twat, too twitchy to be any sort of threat, but Vincenzo… he took after his mother—power hungry and ruthless to a fault.
“Marrying the disgraced son of the Don. A fighter.” His nose wrinkled before he threw back the rest of his bloodwine. “A fighter from thepits,no less. You degrade your family name.”
“We missed you yesterday at council.” I lifted two glasses of blood wine off a passing tray, handing a fresh one to Vincenzo. “But I’m sure you were quite busy with your rituals and spells. Too busy to attend a stuffy old council meeting with the rest of the Pentarch heads.”
“My mother required me to be elsewhere,” he said stiffly, tipping the second glass back and downing that one, too. “Perhaps it’s a good thing your father was bled out in his own courtyard before he saw what became of his daughter, whoring herself out to…”
“What do you know about my father being bled out?” I asked pleasantly, trying not to snap the delicate glass stem between my fingers. “Please, Vincenzo, tell me what you really think about me and my family. Don’t be shy now. We’ve known each other a long time.”
“Nothing,” he muttered, looking like a fool holding two empty glasses. “I don’t know anything.”
“Pity.” I smiled thinly. “I’ve been looking for someone with information about my father’s killing, and for a moment…” My wide smile showed every inch of my fangs. “I thought that person might be you.” I sighed dramatically. “My husband has offered up his services in asking the questions. Perhaps he might help you remember more details? Put those pit-fighting skills to good use?”
The fucker blanched. “No, I’m… perhaps I’ve had too much to drink. If you’ll excuse me…”
He skittered off like a rat, leaving me alone, surrounded by a blur of congratulations, condolences, and morbid curiosity.
“Such a smart match for House DiRavello.”
“Dante, though. Can’t ever trust that one.”
“He looks dangerous.”
“He looks…fun.”
I smiled and nodded, laughing at the right times, looking somber at others. I had played this game since I could first string sentences together, and my education had been carved from long hours at my uncle’s side, absorbing every nuance of his endless plotting.
Dante did not have that advantage.
He was too wild, too impatient, too…honest.
His arrogance and brutality would only get him so far with these craven bloodsuckers, and once they had him where they wanted him, they would pounce and drain him dry. I craned my neck, searching for the door he’d disappeared behind, but I wasn’t tall enough. All I saw were flashing fangs and hungry eyes.
“Tell me the truth, Emberline.” A familiar voice appeared at my shoulder. “How does married life suit you?”
I found Nico Draconi beside me, arching an eyebrow. He was dressed with deceptive simplicity—dark suit, no tie, weapons bulging under his jacket—his aura all cool, coiled danger, with the unmistakable weight of the Draconi Brotherhood behind his pale, veiled eyes.
“Oh, you know, I’m living the dream.” I looked past him. “Speaking of which, have you seen my husband?”
