Chapter 15
EMBERLINE
The steward stepped aside, and my uncle glided into the room.
Everyone shifted into defensive mode, expressions hardening as mental protections and shields slid into place, my uncle’s reputation preceding his beatific smile.
Giovanni withered slightly beneath the weight of two Dominico stares—one dark, one vivid blue—in his plain brown habit. His hands were folded, sleeves hiding the long, pale fingers that had taught me a hundred ways to kill a bigger, stronger male.
“Don Marcello,” Giovanni bowed, his voice trembling enough to sound sincere. “Forgive my intrusion. The banquet is… well, no place for me. I feared for my niece and her foolish, impulsive actions…”
With an impatient flick of his fingers, Marcello cut him off.
Good thing because if he spoke another word about how foolish I was acting, I’d vault over this table and wrap my hands around his throat.
Who was he to call me impulsive, when every move I’d made today was part of his carefully choreographed plan? Why had he abandoned me when I’d needed his support?
I stayed right where I was because across the room, Gabriel Dominico watched me like a wolf, and after all his baseless insinuations that my uncle was behind Enzo’s murder… I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of exposing any friction between us.
“You have not yet fulfilled your obligation to the Compact,” the Don’s sharp command rang off the walls. “You left the chamber before giving your blood. That oversight will be corrected. Now.”
Giovanni’s gaze darted to the Basin, and for just an instant, I saw the shift—from deference to sharp, ugly annoyance. Then his face smoothed over, a mask of pious regret.
“Of course, Don,” he murmured. “I meant no disrespect. In my haste, I… forgot myself.”
“Convenient,” Nico muttered under his breath, and Gabriel coughed into his hand. The two were friends, I remembered hearing. Close since childhood, though I’d never pictured one of the Draconi as having actual… friends.
More like… targets they hadn’t yet interrogated and tortured.
“Quickly,” Marcello ordered, gesturing to the far side of the table. “Stand before the Basin. Swear your loyalty as your niece and nephew have sworn.”
Giovanni moved to comply, the never-ending humility act wrapped around him like another layer to his costume.
He stopped before the bowl, close enough I smelled the hint of woodsy incense clinging to his skin as he drew a small knife from the rope at his waist, the blade plain and sharp.
Not gold, like Marcello’s. Not ceremonial.
Steel. Practical. Efficient.
“Your blood,” Marcello prompted with a hint of urgency.
I wasn’t imagining the tension rising around me like waves on the sea, Severin and Nico’s shoulders held in a tight line, Gabriel’s eyes set like glittering stones in his impassive face. As if they were waiting for my uncle to fail this test.
Giovanni sliced his palm with a shallow, economical cut. Thick, dark blood welled up, far slower than mine, before he bowed his head and held his hand over the Basin.
“I, Giovanni DiRavello,” he intoned, “consigliere to the DiRavello family, swear my life and loyalty to Don Marcello Dominico. I swear to uphold the Compact, to counsel my bloodline in accordance with its laws, and to accept judgment should I betray it. Let my blood bear witness to my oath.”
The runes along the Basin’s rim stuttered, a constellation of tiny sparks traveling around the edge of the bowl until dimming, the magic tasting his offering and finding it acceptable—for now.
Because liars bleed red like everyone else.
The quote hit me out of nowhere, Uncle Gio’s eyes meeting mine, and in them… nothing but pity.
Fear became a slippery thing, something I couldn’t grasp, couldn’t stop, sliding through my veins as my brain came up with a hundred different explanations for why he was here, all of them terrible.
Wondering if he was about to betray me, like he’d betrayed so many others.
“Your oath is accepted,” Marcello’s lip rose. “Now speak your piece.”
Giovanni lifted his head, well-practiced grief etched in every line of his round face.
“I come only as a servant of reconciliation,” he stated softly. “My brother’s death has torn our family apart. My niece is deep in mourning. In her sorrow, she has done something… rash. Understandable, perhaps. But ill-advised.”
“Careful, Uncle,” I hissed, my voice thin as glass. “I might get offended that you’re speaking about me as if I’m not even here.” My eyes were fixed on his fingers, waiting for one of his messages, something to tell me he was on my side because right now, I felt like he’d thrown me to the wolves.
He shot me a sorrowful look. “Emberline, I speak only truth. Your temper burns fiercely, but it has once again gotten you into trouble. None of us blames you for seeking justice. But now is the time for a truce.” He swept a hand toward the Basin, the predators surrounding us.
“Before you ruin the entire Dynasty in your grief.”
“Well,” I shot him a sharp glare. “If that’s what it takes.”
But some of my panic faded. Hidden between his words was a message—Trouble. Truce. Ruin. His fingers, tapping out a message on his thigh, spelled out the rest. Danger. Enemies closing in. No escape.
Whatever Don Marcello was plotting, I was in danger, and he was here to extricate me.
How, I didn’t know, but at least I wasn’t in this alone.
Giovanni sighed, as if I’d just proven his point. “Don Marcello, we owe our lives to this Dynasty. My brother believed in the order you brought to our world. I would see that belief honored, not twisted into cause for rebellion.”
“No one has spoken of rebellion,” Marcello’s voice was harsh. “Only of our laws, and your niece was well within her rights to accuse who she believes is her sire’s killer. And the accused have the right to defend themselves. That is our justice.”
“And yet you don’t hear what they say, do you?” Giovanni pressed gently, something wicked lurking behind his viper’s smile. “Whispers are already spreading at tonight’s banquet. They say you are vulnerable. That the Compact no longer binds us together as it once did.”
Gabriel stiffened, his gaze finding Nico’s, then Severin’s. All three males were suddenly alert, all hint of amusement gone, the air in the room turning dangerous.
I drummed my fingers on the table before me, sending my own message. If you’ve come to rescue me, Uncle, you’re doing a piss-poor job of it.
Marcello’s cold gaze never left Giovanni. “Make your point.”
Giovanni smiled, small and humble. “I am a man of the cloth now,” he prevaricated. “I have come to believe that bloodshed is not always the answer to conflict, no matter how satisfying it may feel in the moment.” His eyes flicked to me, full of reproach. “Sometimes, the answer is unity.”
“Unity,” Gabriel repeated, each syllable flat.
“Yes.” Giovanni spread his hands. “A Pentarch’s eldest child just accused the Don of murder.
No matter how this case is resolved, families will be divided over the outcome, perhaps for centuries.
But such a scandal resolved correctly…” He paused, letting the words hang.
“It could strengthen us. Bind us together permanently.”
I clenched my fists.
For the past week, we’d explored every fucking possible option for vengeance, and every time, Uncle Gio had advised that invoking the Right had the fewest ramifications. Now he was making me out to be the fall guy for… whatever in the fuck he was about to do next.
I snuck a glance at Gabriel. Jaw clenched tight enough to pop that vein throbbing in his forehead, eyes burning as he glared at my uncle.
I know how you feel, stronzo. My entire body shook with impotent fury, sweat tracing my backbone as I searched for a way out. This was a trap, I just… couldn’t see it. Not yet.
“Enough with the vague hints,” Severin rumbled from the corner. “What are you suggesting, monk?”
Giovanni inclined his head toward the warrior. “Something simple,” he beamed. “A joining of Houses. A reshaping of the feud into an alliance. In short—a marriage.”
A fucking… what?
My heart stumbled over itself.
All I could do was stare at him. At Marcello. At Gabriel, whose expression hadn’t changed at all, which meant he’d already anticipated my uncle’s play, and I was the one playing fucking catch up.
“Explain,” Marcello’s eyes sharpened in a way that made my stomach drop.
“You must realize the DiRavello empire is essential,” Giovanni said smoothly.
“Our banking connections, our ties to mortal nobility, our expertise in diplomacy. My brother’s death was a tragedy, but it need not divide us.
If Luca’s position is to be upheld, as you so generously agreed, then let that loyalty be forever sealed in a way no one can question. ”
His gaze slid to me, then to Gabriel.
Raw, murderous rage filled me, like a cauldron boiling at my center, while another, detached part of me wondered if any of this was real. It couldn’t be. There is no way my uncle would maneuver me into challenging the Don, knowing we would end up here.
Then why was I a ball of nerves, waiting to explode?
“Let my niece wed your heir.”
The room went very still.
Bile rose in my throat, the room swimming before my eyes as my past and present and future crumbled around me. This could not be happening.
There had to be something here I was not seeing. Some escape route only he knew about, or a threat I was unaware of.
And yet… my instincts were quiet, nothing about the Dominico’s raising any red flags. Only this horror growing heavier and heavier in my belly, the dawning realization I’d been duped by the one person I’d put all my trust in.
Nico’s arms uncrossed, his pale eyes flicking between us.
This was preposterous. My entire life had been spent watching my uncle scheme and manipulate, but not once had his deviousness extended to us. Family did not lie to each other. That had been our family mantra for as long as I could speak.
The one absolute I had always relied on.
And suddenly, I wondered if my uncle believed in anything other than protecting his own power.
Gabriel’s turquoise eyes burned, not with heat, as Marcello steepled his fingers. “Gabriel is not a bargaining chip,” he countered, his tone dangerously soft. “And as my heir, my son has certain responsibilities.”
Read: there are about a hundred females I can marry him off to that outrank your pitiful niece.
I gripped the chair arms. “Right. That’s good enough for me. We’ll just be on our…”
Giovanni stopped me with an outstretched hand.
“I meant no disrespect. I merely state the obvious. Instead of an execution, a public marriage would transform this… unfortunate outburst into a romantic tale for the ages. The Dynasty would cheer you as a magnanimous ruler, capable of forgiveness. The other families would see that DiRavello Court is not drifting away but woven even tighter into your line.”
I could see it already—the fanfare, the gossip, the fucking dress I’d have to wear if I went along with this travesty.
I’d rather fucking be executed.
At least the suffering would be minimal.
“You would have me marry your enemies, instead of avenging your own brother,” I shot my uncle a withering glare. “How poetic. Or should I say pathetic?”
“A marriage,” Giovanni continued as if I didn’t even exist, addressing Marcello, “would end this matter concisely. Emberline will withdraw her accusation. You could open an investigation into Enzo’s death, quietly, without the spectacle of Arbitration.
If any… irregularities are found, they can be handled with discretion.
Meanwhile, the alliance between our families would reassure everyone that there is no schism at the heart of the Dynasty.
As we both know, unity is all that matters. ”
I had to hand it to my uncle—he set elegant traps.
Only this time, I’d been the one caught.