Chapter 6
EMBERLINE
Icrouched down in the courtyard, the hem of my funeral dress settling onto the flagstones, the ground cold against my bare feet. The dried pool of blood was even blacker than I remembered, like an endless hole I could tumble down and never hit bottom.
“For what they did to you, I should have killed Gabriel Dominico tonight,” I whispered, my promise disappearing into that black hole.
“They need to pay for what they did. For what they took from me and Luca. I miss you, Dad. I miss you so much, every day, and I don’t know how I’m going to get through this. ”
I hated feeling this vulnerable.
Hated our sire was dead, and that Luca was about to be thrust into a life he wasn’t equipped for. My brother liked to paint, draw, and write. A dreamer who had never taken a life. Could hardly squash a spider.
I was the one who Father had trained to inherit the DiRavello mantle of power.
The one he’d trusted with his secrets.
I was the one with enough blood on my hands to stain the canals red.
But the D’Immortali Dynasty had strict, outdated rules about primogeniture. Father had been killed before he’d officially signed control of the family over to his eldest daughter, so by ancient right, all familial responsibilities fell to Luca.
Still, Uncle Gio would guide him, and if anyone so much as moved against my brother, I would slice them ear to ear.
“But I will,” I continued, swiping tears from my eyes. “I will go on, and I will make them pay. In blood. In bodies. Until I’m satisfied, I’ve gotten every last one of them.”
For the hundredth time, I measured the distance between where my father died and the warded twenty-foot-high brick wall enclosing the gardens, wondering who could have disabled the cameras and broken through our wards.
Probably the same way someone had snuck onto our island tonight.
Then gone straight to the Sala del Giuramento. Which only took me straight back to the Dominico’s. The same place every trail seemed to lead these days.
I pulled in a lungful of humid air, still tinged with a hint of Enzo’s cigar-smoke scent, letting the last vestiges of my sire fill my lungs, clearing out the acrid residue of wood smoke and ash.
“I should have cleaned up this gruesome scene days ago.” Giovanni floated out of the shadows, sandals silent, the hem of his robe swishing heavily over stone like sandpaper. “But I thought the boot print would lead us to our assassin. I am sorry I couldn’t find your father’s killer, Emberline.”
I traced the print with my finger, etched the pattern into my brain.
The boot print looked military, perhaps a member of the Draconi Brotherhood or one of those blood-obsessed DiSangue priests, sent to settle an old vendetta.
Both had ironclad ties to Marcello.
“I’ll continue looking.” He sighed, sounding so exhausted, pity stirred in my heart. “Pursue every lead. One of them will lead us to the answer, Emberline. We must be patient.”
“Patience is overrated. We both know who did this.”
Loyalty in Blood, Honor in Strength was the Dominico family motto.
Fuck their honor.
I pursed my lips. Whether by Marcello’s hand, or his son’s, or a hired mercenary, the Dominicos killed my sire, and I would shove their family motto right down their throats with hate in my heart and a blade in my hand, and they could choke on it.
But I needed more than hate to secure my revenge.
Because while I didn’t need a shred of proof to kill the bastards, the rest of the families in the Dynasty would.
“Please get off the ground, Emberline,” my uncle chided. “Staring at your father’s blood only makes your heart hurt, and you know I cannot abide to see my favorite niece in pain.”
“I’m your only niece,” I corrected him wryly, and he chuckled. My knees did ache, but I didn’t move. Giovanni was wrong. Penance demanded pain, and for all my failings, I deserved to suffer.
“Come, child. My brother would not like to see his only daughter on her knees in the darkness, thinking such dark thoughts. Come inside, let me make you a cup of tea.”
I didn’t lift my eyes, a sudden swarm of panic tightening my chest. Once I leave, the servants will clean these stones, and there will be nothing left of my father, nothing except ash in the wind and fading memories and… My gaze snagged on the bottom of my uncle’s brown robe.
I frowned.
The fabric was dark, soaked, as if the hem had dragged in the canal.
The wet hem even smelled brackish, that peculiar smell Venice’s water held when it had been stagnant for too long or trapped beneath one of these ancient buildings. Behind him, leading to the palazzo, was a wet trail of water.
“Have your spies brought you any new information, Uncle?”
“Nothing yet,” Uncle Gio touched my shoulder. “But you are right to suspect the Dominicos. However,” he cautioned, “we must proceed carefully if my brother is to be properly avenged.”
Avenge. The word rang through me like a bell being struck, resounding and final.
A promise I could keep; all I needed was a way forward.
And if anyone knew the way forward, it was Giovanni DiRavello.
My uncle was clever, ruthless, and possessed the uncanny ability to navigate the politics of our Dynasty, partially because of his intricate network of spies spread throughout the city, but also because he possessed the unique ability to read minds.
Something I’d learned from a young age to guard against, under my father’s careful tutelage. You can never be too careful, he’d told me with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. Always guard yourself, angelo mio. Our world is a dangerous place, and you can only ever fully trust yourself.
“You believe Marcello did this?”
Gio’s silence was answer enough, and a flame curled around my heart, the first lick of warmth I’d felt since I’d found my father dead. The first time in three days, I was… less adrift.
Yes, vengeance was something solid I could latch onto, a rope to pull myself back to shore, until my feet were back on firm ground and my knife was in my hand. Purpose flooded through me, purpose and hatred and the need to prove myself.
To my father. To my uncle, and maybe, to myself.
“Yes, a cup of tea sounds wonderful.” I looked up at the clouds swamping the moon. “I think it’s going to storm, anyway.”
“We must exercise caution, of course,” my uncle explained as I toyed with the handle of the teacup. “There will be security, Dominico soldiers, and the like. Their wards are the best in Italy, centuries of magical protections.”
I turned my head, so he didn’t see my grin. I’d circumvented their wards pretty godsdamned seamlessly tonight, and if Gabriel hadn’t stopped me, I would have…
Would have what? Left Marcello bleeding out in his city palazzo?
The idea was tempting, but the dark side of me craved something bigger. Flashier.
I wanted them to suffer.
But first, I wanted every member of this Dynasty to know how corrupt the Dominicos were.
“But the Don, and his two sons, are guarded by the most elite members of the Draconi Brotherhood. With their training, they will present more of a challenge than anything you have ever faced. And of course, there is the issue of access.” My uncle pursed his lips.
“Their island is unbreachable, and he seldom leaves his fortress these days. Your best chance would be either in the city or during travel.”
“You say he seldom leaves the island.” I braced my elbows on the table. “Are you sure there is no way inside? We thought we were safe here, and we were wrong.” I waved my hand around.
Wondering, for the millionth time, if I had gotten my father killed.
The sharp flash of grief was something I should have been prepared for, but it caught me unawares, like someone jabbing a knife into my side.
I still looked for Enzo around every corner, expecting to hear his voice. I’d stood in his office for an hour yesterday, sorting through the papers on his desk, wondering which of them he’d touched last. This grief would cannibalize me from the inside out if I didn’t find an outlet… and soon.
As if he read my mind, Gio counseled, “Enzo’s death does not rest on your shoulders, Ember, nor mine. We were betrayed by powerful enemies.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Enemies we’ll make pay, correct?”
The floor overhead creaked, and we both paused, waiting for Luca’s feet to hit the floor. Then the soft sound of snoring drifted down, and my uncle and I smiled faintly at each other.
“We will make them pay, yes, but…” He went quiet for a moment, as if mulling over the options. “If you wish to pursue vengeance, we must plan carefully. No impulsive moves, no action without my knowledge. I have no wish to lose both my brother and my niece in the same month.”
“Don’t treat me like a reckless child.” I gripped the edge of the table like a lifeline. “I have trained for this my entire life. If we wait too long, we’ll miss our chance.”
Now might be a good time to bring up my foray into enemy territory, which, in retrospect, may have been ever so slightly reckless.
I cleared my throat. “So, last night, I…”
“You are so like your mother. Always such a temper,” Gio interrupted, staring at me kindly. “I do not doubt your abilities, niece. But getting you and the Don face to face, with no wards, no guards, no sons to interfere… will take a miracle.”
“What about the Blood Compact?” I mused. “The Don oversees the ceremony. There are families there from all over the world. Faces he might not know, a level of confusion we could leverage.”
“The Don would be in front of the entire Dynasty.” Something bright sparked in my uncle’s gaze. “Every member would bear witness to your accusation. That could work well indeed.”
I held my breath as my uncle gazed into the distance, his dark eyes darkening.
Warmth at his praise flooded through me like honey. He liked my idea of making a public statement.
“What about invoking the Right of Arbitration?” I suggested. “I am entitled to raise a dispute over my father’s murder, and the Don himself must render judgment. In an open forum, with both parties present. Small, private, but formal and on the record.”
My uncle’s slow, thoughtful nod and the tacit approval in his eyes sent another warm gush of pride rushing through me like a heady drug.
I wondered if he would head to Isola della Cenere tonight. The island had once been home to a Benedictine Abbey, before it burned down centuries ago. Now they claimed the misty ruins were haunted, but my uncle said they were beautiful.
According to him, the solitude helped him focus.
My father had taught me to navigate the open waters of the Adriatic and the intricacies of Venetian aristocracy, but Uncle Giovanni had taught me everything else.
How to use words like weapons, to listen carefully and pick apart every innocent conversation to find the dark secrets we could leverage.
And those skills would help me survive what came next.
“There is still the Draconi Brotherhood to contend with. They will be in attendance, but yes, Ember, I’d say we have the beginning of a plan. A plan that will end with my brother being avenged, and Marcello finally answering for his crimes. The question, my child, is this… are you up for the task?”
“Yes,” I promised, unhesitatingly. “I will practice every day between now and the day of the Right, and we will come up with a plan for every contingency.”
“There is the banquet, after the swearing of the Blood Compact. Invoke the Right, then, niece,” Giovanni suggested mildly, then tipped his head, as if a better solution presented itself.
“Better yet, invoke your right at the swearing of the Compact, up on the stage, in front of everyone; that way, Marcello will be forced to accept. He won’t dare refuse, not with all five families in attendance.
Not with the eyes of the Shadow Court upon us.
There is your opportunity, Emberline, if you are willing to seize it. ”
“I will seize the moment, and I will make the other families listen.”
My uncle smiled, and for the briefest second, triumph flashed across his features, then vanished behind an expression as somber as a monk’s.