Chapter 25
LUCA
There’s only an hour left before we leave, and the only plan we’ve come up with makes me feel like horny scorpions are fucking inside my kidneys.
Pietro has hacked some satellite feeds or some other kind of Maker-smart crap and tells us the fighters Tomasso mobilized are still at the camp.
He also says Tomasso is still there because the car he uses for long-distance trips is still parked outside.
That seems pretty flimsy to me, but Rosa agreed that the Grand Ball Sack wouldn’t go anywhere unless it was in that particular dick-mobile. He is a creature of habit, she insists.
Minnie has gone back to court, and she’ll stay in touch with anything relevant. She’ll also be carrying out a stealth mission to see what kind of support I have there. I don’t want to be the Don, and I never have, which Matteo says makes me the perfect person for the job.
I’m still hoping it doesn’t come to that.
The only way to defeat Vincenzo would be by killing him, and the man has stayed alive for centuries.
His body might look like it’s rotting from the inside out, but he’s strong where it counts.
He has loyal men, he has Carlos, he has control over hundreds of vamps within a ten-mile radius alone.
And as he owns me, body and soul, he has me, and he can wrap his iron fist around my heart at any moment he chooses.
The only way to stop that from happening is to challenge him in front of the whole court. Coscas are built on tradition, on structure, on rules—and one of them is that the Don of any family can be challenged by anybody brave enough or stupid enough to do it.
It happens. Vamps with egos bigger than their brains, humans with grievances after losing loved ones.
Even a shifter once, who tried to take him on as a boa constrictor.
Challenged him in human form, shifted, and planned to wrap himself around the Don’s neck and crush him.
Didn’t work. Vincenzo tore him to scaly pieces and fed him to his ex-wife, Felicia, in a soup.
Most don’t make it past stage one, issuing the challenge in front of witnesses.
Someone turns up looking for a fight, they tend to get exploded before they’re through the door.
The ones who succeed usually pretend to be there for something else and say the words before he or Carlos realize the truth.
The chances of me winning a challenge lie somewhere between zero and minus a million. But if it comes to that, if it is the only option left to me, then I will take it. If this whole shitshow goes wrong and that’s the only thing I can do to buy her time, then I’ll do it.
Now, we’re all in the living area, preparing to head to see the Don.
The plan is to give him Pietro along with all the intel Pietro has about Tomasso’s plans.
Rosa was set against it, but she was overruled and outvoted.
Not that there was a vote. This isn’t a fucking democracy—unless I know I’m going to win.
Pietro and his toys in return for Rosa’s life is what I have to offer, along with Rosa as a way into the Vecchissime to make sure they know what Tomasso’s up to.
It’s a good deal for Vincenzo. He gets to use Pietro as a bargaining chip with his grandfather and gets to learn exactly how many men Tomasso has, where they are, and when they move.
That gives him a huge advantage and means he could end this war before it begins.
It’s a chance to wipe out his enemy without risk.
It also means that once Rosa and Donna tell the other heads of their families what’s been happening, the Vecchissime will accept that it wasn’t Vincenzo who started the conflict—that their own precious elder statesman was behind everything.
Vincenzo comes out of it all smelling like roses and with the chance to eradicate the Grand Ball Sack.
All he needs to do in return is promise to keep the peace and to let Rosa go.
She’s also insisting we ask for Pietro back and requesting to deal with Tomasso if he’s captured.
I agreed to it because it will never happen.
Pietro he might keep around, the kid can be useful, but Tomasso doesn’t stand a chance of seeing another dawn after what he’s pulled.
I don’t care about that. I don’t care about either of them, and I don’t care who does or doesn’t get hurt in a war.
All I care about is her and getting her out in one piece.
I don’t give a fuck if that’s me speaking or a blood spell cast by some ancient hag as an insurance policy all that time ago.
It’s what I feel, bone deep, in every cell of my body.
She’s up in her room with Donatella. Any other women and I’d think maybe they were trying on outfits or doing each other’s hair. Those two will be sharpening stakes and polishing their amulets.
Pietro is still glued to his laptop, sipping some vile energy drink and tapping his toes on the floor in a jerky beat. Looks like those legs of his might be on the mend. I don’t think he knows he’s doing it, and I’m not going to point it out. It might make him happy.
I call Matteo away from the couch where he’s throwing a ball for Moonface and laughing each time she chases it and tears it to bits.
He has a whole box of them to get through.
Every time I see the dog clamp her jaws down and shake her head, I’m reminded of how powerful she is and how someone tried to abuse that power.
They didn’t live to tell the tale thanks to Matteo, and if it’s up to me, Tomasso will go the same way as the pit-bull fighting crew.
In the hallway, away from Pietro’s prying ears, he gestures for me to speak my mind. “All good, Boss?”
“Been better, pal. Look, this plan sucks. It makes sense. It’s logical. It’s exactly the kind of deal Vincenzo should go for. But you know what that probably means, don’t you?”
“Yeah,” he says, frowning. “It means it’s exactly the kind of deal he might shit all over just to be an asshole.
But I don’t think so, Luca. Yeah, he’s a loon, but he’s not stupid.
He’s the one who’s been wary of the Grand Ball Sack this whole time.
He saw what he was before anyone else, and he’s the one who started this whole play.
Okay, so you’re not bringing him her dead body, but you are bringing her brother and her loyalty.
You’re offering her as an ally against his real enemy, and he didn’t get where he is today by ignoring a sweet deal like that. ”
“He got where he is today by plotting the murder of his own sister and by bathing in blood for centuries. Logic isn’t always his first response.
But … Well, I hope I’m wrong. I hope he takes it.
I hope Tomasso is wiped off the board, and the Vecchissime see sense, and we all go back to our normal state of play—ignoring the fuck out of each other.
But if he doesn’t—if it goes wrong—you know what I need you to do. ”
A cloud of unhappiness settles on his face, and he shakes his head. “No, Boss. My priority is you. You’re my man. If you go down, I’m going down right at your side.”
“You are my man, Matteo, and I’m telling you now, if I go down, you get her out of there.
If I end up challenging, you know I’ll lose, but it’ll buy you time.
He’ll be distracted. I’ll keep him busy long enough.
I need you to promise me, brother. I can’t go into this worrying about her.
I can’t concentrate if all I’m thinking about is what happens to her when I’m gone.
This is some messed-up shit, but I love her. I really love her.”
He grins, and I wait for the wisecrack I know is coming. “Aw, that’s so sweet,” he says, punching me in the shoulder so hard I rock back. “Does she make you want to be the best version of yourself?”
“Shut the fuck up and tell me you’ll do it. Whatever happens, promise me you’ll get her out of there and get her safe. Promise me.”
He meets my eyes, and I see the moment he accepts it. The moment he agrees to let me die if he needs to. It goes against every grain of who he is, but he nods anyway. He’ll do it because I’ve asked him to.
“Okay, Boss. I get it. I’ll save the Seer, all right? But listen, don’t you think you should be talking to her instead of me? We’ve got time. Go see her. Stop being a moody vampire asshole and go tell her what you just told me.”
Fuck, I think as he leaves me and goes back to the dog.
He’s right. If this whole thing goes sideways, then this might be the last time I ever get to talk to her.
My heart contracts at the thought, and there’s a weird stinging sensation behind my eyeballs.
I rub them, wondering what the fuck is wrong, and my knuckles come back wet.
I’m crying. I’m actually fucking crying. I haven’t done that since Isabella, and I thought I’d lost the ability.
I swipe at the tears and screw up my eyes until it stops. Nobody needs to see this, especially not Rosa an hour before we take her into the lion’s den.
Once I have myself under control, I take the stairs up to the next floor and knock on the door of the bedroom she’s using. Donatella pulls it open and gives me one of her little finger waves as I walk in. She’s painted her nails bright red, and I roll my eyes.
“What?” she asks, blowing on them, “You don’t have pre-fight rituals?”
“Sure,” I reply. “But mine involve sharpening knives and testing guns.”
“So? Mine involve personal grooming. Get over yourself, big guy. And since when did vamps use weapons?”
“Since always. You might not see much of it in your line of work, but in the Coscas, we use whatever gets the job done. Doesn’t kill other vamps, but it sure slows them down. What the fuck are those things around your neck?”
Rosa is perched on the bed, dressed in all black, her thick hair tied up in a ponytail. Both she and Donna have their amulets wrapped in little black velvet pouches.