Chapter 10
GAbrIEL
The room held its collective breath as the herald’s staff struck the stone again.
My gaze rested firmly on Emberline DiRavello, searching for any tell that the spoiled princess was dangerous. She looked like a fucking wet dream in that dress, and my knees went weak as an image struck me out of nowhere—her on her knees, taking my cock in her mouth as I thrust…
“The Dominico Empire.”
Confused, the crowd shifted, and every gaze in the hall moved to the throne.
To my father.
And then… to me, frowning from the balcony.
No, this was all wrong; the herald had made a mistake.
Our family—by ancient tradition—swore the oath last. Then the Don clapped his hands, announced the conclusion of the Blood Compact for another ten years, and we all went and drank and fucked ourselves blind.
Marcello rose slowly from the marble seat, pulling his knife from his belt, the same gold knife he’d used at over fifty of these ceremonies. His voice, when he spoke, was softer—but infinitely more dangerous than I’d ever heard it.
“I, Marcello Dominico,” he stated, “Don of the D’Immortali Dynasty, head of the Dominico family, swear my life and line to the protection of Venice and our kind.
I swear to uphold the Compact, to judge rightly, to punish betrayal without mercy.
I swear to guard this city until my last breath, my last drop of blood, my last heir falls. ”
Blood fell, the dark stone hissed, the runes flared.
And his magic… dark, consuming power swept across the room, over the crowd, pulling hair free from elaborate headdresses, knocking vampires back a step, a few unsuspecting members going to their knees.
The wave passed through me like a physical thing, as if I could feel a cold, sharp scythe severing bone and sinew and organs.
The crowd below made a mournful sound—something between a groan and a curse.
No, this wasn’t right; Father never partook in this. The Don didn’t swear fealty to himself. This was wrong, so wrong.
Was Marcello confused?
Was he having one of his moments? Gods, we had to cut this short and get him out of here.
I was trying to make sense of this change, searching the edges of the crowd for Nico when Marcello tipped his head. Looked straight at me. My heart kicked, slamming against my ribs.
“Gabriel,” he announced loudly, and the weight of five hundred pairs of eyes landed on me at once. “My son. The future heir of this Dynasty. Come stand by my side.” The words hit me like a blow and an invitation both, sending my heart hammering faster.
I didn’t think. I moved.
I dematerialized from the balcony to my father’s side, the sea of faces blurring as I stared out over their heads, the hiss of expensive silk and whispering gossip filling the chamber.
Now watch, my son. Marcello’s rough voice echoed inside my head. Watch what happens when jealousy is allowed to fester for too long. See what poison truly looks like. It takes a monster to twist something beautiful into a weapon filled with hate.
Boom, boom, boom. The steward stepped back. “The DiRavello Court shall now swear fealty to the Dynasty.”
Giovanni DiRavello scurried to the bottom of the dais, unassuming in his plain Franciscan habit, the corded belt symbolizing his vow of poverty, quite a statement, given he belonged to the wealthiest family in Venice.
He didn’t look like a threat, but every one of my instincts was raw and alert, ready to throw myself between him and my sire.
Giovanni inclined his head. “Don Marcello,” he pitched his voice perfectly, adding just the right amount of deference in his tone.
“Giovanni.” My father’s reply held an edge. “Your blood.”
“I shall be honored, Don, to pay my tithe and swear my loyalty, but Luca is the head of the family now. He should be the first to bleed for you, as is proper.”
My father didn’t look at all surprised by the affront; he simply beckoned the young male up.
This was the first time I’d gotten a good look at the boy.
He was only thirty, too young—in vampire years—to take over an empire.
But the male was good looking, like some crusading knight of old, with sculpted features and aristocratic bearing, gliding effortlessly up the steps, and offering my father a half-bow before lifting his head.
Jealousy hit me out of nowhere.
He looked like his father, and in his eyes, I saw the innocent I never got the chance to be.
Raw honesty, a hint of curiosity, sincere respect for my father, along with enough wide-eyed awe to stoke Marcello’s ego. In other words, he was fucking perfect.
“Take the knife and swear the oath,” Marcello commanded, but there was a hint of something in his voice I couldn’t quite place.
Amusement, maybe. Luca was so young. Obviously untried, yet expected to hold his own against vampires twenty times his age, with a hundred times the cunning and experience.
I almost felt sorry for him.
Although… he commanded himself well. Without hesitation, he sliced the blade across the meat of his palm. Bright crimson welled instantly before he tipped his hand over the Basin.
The moment the first drop hit the stone, the runes around the rim flared, absorbing the blood with a sizzle of fresh, potent power. The faint scent of ozone prickled the air. No flash of power—he was too young—more like a preview of what he might become.
“I, Luca DiRavello,” he recited, voice steady, “head of the DiRavello family, swear my life and line to Don Marcello Dominico. I swear loyalty in word and deed. I swear my blood, my fortune, and my descendants to the service of the D’Immortali Dynasty.
Should I break this oath, let my line be hunted, my name erased, my legacy burned to ash. ”
His words resonated as the Basin eagerly drank his blood.
My father inclined his head.
“Your oath is accepted.” Then he murmured, something like regret coloring his words. “Now the sister.”
A faint ripple of power rolled through the room, brushing over my skin like static, like a storm was rolling in, but it was only Emberline DiRavello, stepping daintily up the steps, as fragile as a fawn, dress lifted high enough I saw a flash of one perfect, delicate ankle, wrapped in thin, black leather straps.
A fresh shiver of lust went through me, completely out of character for the situation, but by the time she stopped in front of us, I’d mastered myself again.
“Emberline DiRavello, have you come to swear your fealty to the Blood Compact?” My father asked quietly, then added, so only the three of us could hear. “And allow me to remind you, if you refuse, your entire bloodline is forfeit, including your brother.”
I remained ramrod straight, didn’t dare look at my sire with the shock I was feeling. The Don of a Dynasty didn’t bargain with the lesser children of the weakest house, not in public, not at the ceremony.
Nor did he offer up his own blade, hilt-first.
I rocked forward on the balls of my feet, heart racing.
The girl dragged the knife out of his hand and slashed it across her palm with no hesitation, a deeper cut than any I’d seen, a perfectly straight gash right along her heart line, blood welling up so fast, I…
The smell hit me all at once, rich and luscious, and my fangs punched out, hunger surging, possessing me like a clawed fist of greed. I blew out an unsteady breath, every nerve ending raw.
Emberline DiRavello’s cold, appraising gaze raked over me like the edge of a blade, her smile feline. When she tipped her hand, so much blood poured into the Basin, it splattered over the sides, hissing as the runes flared to life, glowing brighter than I’d ever seen them.
Like they couldn’t get enough of her.
My mouth watered, like I didn’t have fifty years of self-control. But gods, the urge to take her hand and lap up every drop of that rich, red blood sent my entire body shuddering.
“I, Emberline DiRavello,” she recited, that husky contralto ripping through my bones, “swear my life and line to Don Marcello Dominico.” She bit off his name with a snap of her teeth.
“I swear loyalty in word and deed. I swear my blood, my fortune, and myself to the service of the D’Immortali Dynasty.
Should I break this oath, let my line be hunted, my name erased, my legacy burned to ash. ”
Marcello’s jaw ticked, curiosity sparking in his eyes. This close, I sensed the deep well of power he carried, coiled tight in his chest. Magic he could use to end this girl, magic she would not be able to defend against, and for one impossible moment, I held my breath and prayed he let her live.
Gods, she was beautiful, up close, beneath the candlelight.
A fucking masterpiece of perfect pale skin and dark eyes, lips as red as cherries.
Then I frowned.
Emberline still hadn’t moved. She was still planted in front of us, nose flaring as she stared at my father, and Marcello—the male who had never bowed to anyone—dipped his head, like he was awaiting judgment.
Sensing the wrongness of this moment, Severin was rising from his chair, and Nico was shoving his way toward us through the crowd.
Her fingers around the golden hilt tightened, knuckles whitening.
“Don Marcello Dominico,” her voice rang loud and sure, and my father flinched. “As a bonded member of this Dynasty and as Enzo DiRavello’s eldest living child, I invoke the Right of Arbitration for the murder of my father.”
She eyed my father like a wolf eyed its prey, hand banded around the hilt of his favorite ceremonial knife, the edge stained red with her blood.
My instincts rose as her pupils dilated, her grip tightened down on the hilt, something like resignation glimmering in my father’s eyes. Every muscle in my thighs tensed as I dropped into a half-crouch, the air stalling in my lungs.
Below, the bloodthirsty throng pressed forward, shoving past the velvet ropes, the family heads lunging out of their gilded seats and onto their feet.
One moment, Severin was reaching toward Emberline, Nico a dark blur cutting through the crowd, the DiSangue coven casting a web of protective red magic around themselves.
The next, my father’s voice cut through the chaos like a blade, and the world stopped moving.
“And who, child, do you accuse of this heinous crime?”
“You, Don.” Pointing the knife straight at him, splattering the front of his shirt with droplets of her own blood, she lifted her head higher, while I wondered if she’d completely lost her fucking mind.
“I accuse you of murdering Enzo DiRavello in cold blood.”