Chapter 14
EMBERLINE
Honestly, I had expected chains.
Four cold walls, maybe a metal pot to piss in.
Instead, Don Marcello’s office was less workspace than a dragon’s hoard disguised as a library, where plaster walls disappeared behind floor-to-ceiling shelves groaning with leather-bound volumes.
Maps and star charts curled on every surface, vying for space with piles of ancient coins, knives with jeweled hilts, and a cracked astrolabe.
A massive desk of dark, intricately carved wood sat beneath thick, mullioned windows, its surface cluttered with open, wax-sealed letters, and an inkstone carved from translucent alabaster.
Instead of cigars and brandy, the air smelled richly of cloves and beeswax, the spicy sweetness clinging to the heavy velvet curtains and polished paneling, softening the faint metallic tang of ink and parchment.
“Excuse the mess,” Marcello waved his hand at the chaos. “Letters of introduction from attendees, other business I did not have time to attend to,” he explained as he dropped into the creaking chair behind his desk.
“Set that over there while we wait.”
Wait for what? I wondered as two Draconi soldiers struggled in with the Basin, placing it to the right of the desk, the rim still wet with fresh blood. There was something oddly fascinating about the thing, empty now, except for the dampness darkening the stone.
I didn’t know much about magic, possessing none myself, but right now, a faint haze of power gilded my skin like gold, residue from Gabriel’s sworn oath.
Where had all that blood gone?
Did the Basin devour it, like a starving vampire, or did our blood… go somewhere else?
Unfortunately, I didn’t have time to ponder the mysteries of the universe.
I was worried about Luca. Whether or not he, like me, was sitting in a chair, worried about his fate. I hoped he was at the banquet, enjoying the debauchery, being pursued by a flock of rabid mafia princesses.
Gabriel stood behind my left shoulder. Not close enough to touch, but near enough to detect the cold burn of his disapproval. He’d changed since we left the smaller room—a firming of his wide shoulders, the chosen heir sliding fully into place over the male who’d bound up my hand.
The trusted son, polished to perfection.
I sat ramrod straight, hands folded in my lap, my future hanging in the balance, my eyes drifting over to that damned artifact, wondering how the damned thing worked.
Nico leaned against the wall, arms crossed, his long, black braid hanging over one shoulder.
He looked deceptively relaxed, but his eyes tracked every breath I took.
Severin occupied the far corner, a silent mountain of muscle and scar tissue, candles glinting off his shaved head, dark gaze flat and assessing.
And then there was Marcello, sitting opposite me, the gold knife resting on the desk between us.
A dare?
Or a warning?
He looked older here than he had on the dais, the lines around his mouth etched deeper, the weight of centuries pressing down his shoulders.
But power coiled in his chest like a storm held in check.
He was flush with magic after the ceremony, and I’d been a fool not to kill him when I’d had the chance.
Now, he was the one deciding whether I lived or died.
“The Right of Arbitration,” Marcello explained, his voice low but clear.
“Exists so no family may be destroyed on a whim. So grievances may be addressed without bloodshed.” His gaze raked over me, sharp and heavy.
“You have invoked your rights, Signorina DiRavello, in front of witnesses. I am bound to honor that.”
A small, brittle victory in the face of such great loss.
“But,” he went on, because of course there was a but, “while Arbitration is underway, certain terms must be agreed upon to ensure proper order is maintained.”
There it was—the cage, politely wrapped in legalities. I dipped my head.
Uncle and I had discussed this at length, and while I knew what was coming, I did not like it.
“You will remain under Dominico protection until the matter is resolved, subject to my security, my rules.”
“Protection,” I echoed blandly. “Is that what we’re calling imprisonment now?”
“Call it what you like,” he rested his elbows on the desk. “Until this matter is settled, you will remain in the city proper, within the confines of your palazzo.”
I’d expected that. Still, the words stuck under my skin like splinters.
“And my brother?” I asked. “What happens to Luca?” If this bastard thought he would hurt me by hurting my brother…
“Already escorted safely home,” Gabriel interrupted, before his father could answer. “With a full guard. Under Draconi watch.”
“Watch,” I repeated bitterly, seeing the way Gabriel went still as I impugned his precious Dominico honor. “Another charming euphemism.”
“It is for his safety,” Marcello’s tone hardened. “Yours as well. Accusations such as this stir unrest. There are those who would seek to use you—or your brother—to their own advantage.”
He meant Rocco Demente. Emilia DiSangue. The ambitious Pentarch families who would love nothing more than to use Luca as leverage in their endless pursuit of power.
I should have considered my brother would become a target… but I didn’t.
That was shortsighted and stupid, and now all I could manage was damage control.
“I alone brought the accusation forward. Luca is not a part of this and is not to be touched. His position as head of DiRavello Court will be recognized by the Dynasty. No sanctions. No undermining his authority as a Pentarch. No quiet accidents.”
Severin’s dark gaze flicked to Marcello, and I squeezed my hands into fists.
“You are in no position to make demands,” Marcello countered.
“I’m in every position,” I shot back. “You want order, not war. If anything happens to me, Luca, or my uncle before the Right, every rumor will say the same thing—that I invoked the law, and your answer was to erase us, anyway. How long before the other families wonder if you’ll come for them?”
“Very well,” he acquiesced with a poisonous glare. “I personally guarantee your and your brother’s safety until the Right is over.” Behind me, Nico snorted softly, and from the look on Severin’s face, he wasn’t happy about the change, either, but too fucking bad.
My brother’s safety… but not my uncle’s.
Still, Marcello was right about one thing. I was in no position to make demands. Giovanni could take care of himself, and Luca’s safety was guaranteed, though I berated myself again for being so focused on revenge, I’d forgotten to keep Luca safe.
Marcello’s gaze never left mine. “During the investigation, secrets may come to light that could be damaging to your family. We all have skeletons in our closets, so to speak, and the Right is known to expose truths that should sometimes remain hidden.”
Was that a threat?
Was he threatening to expose me or my family, or did he know something I didn’t?
“I’m not afraid of the truth,” I lifted my chin, but before Marcello could respond, there were three soft raps at the door, followed by the scrape of the latch.
Nico angled himself in front of the Don. Severin moved to Marcello’s side.
Such good little soldiers.
So fucking loyal.
A steward slipped in, bowing so low his forehead nearly touched his knees. “Don,” he quavered, voice thin with nerves. “Forgive the interruption. Giovanni DiRavello requests an audience. He… insists his presence is required.”
Of course he does. I couldn’t stop resentment from clogging my throat. He disappeared right when I was at my most vulnerable, and now he’s returned. Why?
Something sour curled in my stomach.
As if he felt the same way, Marcello’s mouth thinned. “Show him in.”