Chapter 21
EMBERLINE
My thoughts were a jumbled mess when I slipped back into the palazzo from the roof, right over the heads of my unsuspecting Draconi guards, sliding through the wards like they were made of water and wishes.
One of the first skills my father ever taught me was neutralizing protective magic, and Dominico magic, much like the Dominicos themselves, wasn’t overly complicated.
As one of the Pentarch heads, he was privy to certain useful spells, like that unsealing charm, which he’d helpfully shared with me.
I dusted pigeon shit and city grime off my coat and pants, replaying the way Gabriel had reached into a fucking vampire’s chest and crushed his heart. I blew out a breath, telling myself I was not impressed.
That it wasn’t just a little bit… hot.
Still, I’d never seen anything like that before. Not the sheer brutality of the act itself nor his clinical coldness as he’d ended the piece of shit’s life with a smile that chilled my blood.
I sobered up. Nor the fact that was exactly how my father had been killed.
And Nico… that lunatic was more dangerous than I’d ever given him credit for. A regular slaughtering machine. I’d been a fool to ever think I could go up against him and win.
But worst of all, tonight had shown me Gabriel Dominico—the male I was supposed to hate, the husband I was supposed to kill—was a genuinely good person. And, to a lesser extent, so was Nico.
That thing with his bloody fingers in the shape of a heart… was actually kind of endearing.
Stupidly endearing, actually, the way that ridiculous image kept replaying inside my head.
I headed down the steps to my training studio, my thoughts disorganized, my revenge plan already falling apart.
So, Gabriel really did take his whole honor and nobility thing seriously. They’d saved humans. Three of them, something I wasn’t sure even my father would have done. I knew how my uncle would have handled the situation, and with his thirst for absolute power…
I had a lot to think about.
And the best way to think was by stabbing something.
In less than twenty-four hours, I would be marrying Gabriel. Then I was supposed to bring his kingdom crashing down around his head. Well, his father’s head, but by extension, his head, too.
Everything was getting too complicated too fast, and my feelings—feelings I shouldn’t even be having—were spiraling out of control. I couldn’t betray someone I actually… liked.
Well, didn’t completely despise.
Grabbing two knives, I groaned, the rough sound vibrating off the walls.
I braced my boots on the rubber-matted training floor and sent my knives singing through the air.
They glinted beautifully as they spun—flashing before the blades slammed into the target dummy with that satisfying, meaty sound that was better than any symphony. Within minutes, my mind calmed, my body falling into a routine.
Draw back. Step. Throw.
The weight of each blade was familiar, the balance perfect. They were hand-forged by our best bladesmiths on Burano, made to fit my fingers, my stance. Not ornamental in the least. Utilitarian.
Weapons meant to take lives.
The palazzo wrapped around me like a beautiful cage—all marble floors and frescoed ceilings, Murano chandeliers dripping crystal and colored glass. Outside, Venice pulsed with energy; inside, I was a prisoner.
Protected, my uncle called this arrangement.
Locked up, I’d grumbled back, even though I’d been roaming around the city more these past two days than I’d been trapped inside, the soldiers from the Brotherhood no more enlightened to my nightly excursions than my uncle.
Once, I would have reported to him first and told him everything I’d seen tonight, but he’d lost access to my secrets, the day he sold me out.
Now, the only person I owed any loyalty to was Luca. If my uncle wanted me to ever trust him again, he’d have to earn that back, and after his betrayal, I didn’t know if I could ever find it in me to forgive him.
I flicked another knife, sinking right through the throat of a straw figure. A little low. I clicked my tongue and tugged the blade free, straw rasping beneath my fingers.
I fell into the familiar rhythm until everything else blurred. The palazzo, my uncle’s schemes, this looming marriage I wanted no part of, but would accept because apparently it was my only avenue of revenge. All of that dissolved beneath the simple, bone-deep movements of combat.
Footwork.
Breathing.
Execution.
I didn’t think about Gabriel Dominico’s handsome face, wild blue eyes, or perfectly cleft chin. About the way my whole body went taut when he’d killed that male. About the gentle, kind way he’d treated the humans. About the gentle way he’d treated me.
No, I didn’t think about that at all; he was my enemy, and we weren’t actors in some tragic Shakespearean play. This was war, and in war, someone always died.
I was lining up my next throw when the world shifted.
My body froze at the sudden, hollow drop in the air, my stomach dropping with it, like that horrible second before an accidental fall. Layer after layer of magic protecting the palazzo collapsed, leaving a screaming vacuum as we were laid defenseless.
Fucking gods, we were under attack.
The DiRavello wards were ancient, centuries of blood and magic, woven into every stone of this palazzo, seeped into the very mortar that knit this place together.
They did not fail, not unless someone removed them.
And those extra protections Marcello promised—no, threatened me with—those were gone, too. I reached for my weapon stash, realizing we were completely vulnerable. Luca, where are you? I scrambled to establish a mental bond with my brother, to calm my racing heart. Tell me you’re okay.
No answer. Nothing but a ripple of fear on the other end.
I didn’t hesitate.
A knife slid back into the sheath at my wrist with a whisper.
I grabbed two more, hiding one at the small of my back under my jacket, another in my boot.
In the polished mirror behind the practice dummies, a stranger stared back at me—long, dark curls damp with sweat, pale cheeks flushed, eyes too sharp, coat still covered with a haze of city dust.
I wasted three precious seconds taking a bracing breath.
Reminding myself I’d trained for this moment.
For Marcello sending in his assassins to finish us off. To decide there would be no marriage, no justice, no alliance. Just a silent assassination in the middle of the night to be swept under the Dynasty’s proverbial rug.
And why not? He’d finished off my father much the same way.
I blew my fear out in an exhale, wiped the sweat from my throat, closed the doors of the practice room, and slipped into the dark hallway. Muffled voices floated from the front, the staccato tone rising and falling like the tide.
Luca.
And someone else.
I sped across the floor, avoiding the spots where the floor groaned. From the top of the grand staircase, I scanned the entry hall below—black-and-white marble laid out like a chessboard, columns framing the double doors that faced the canal.
My brother blocked those wide-open doors with his rangy body coiled tight, jaw clenched.
No sign of my uncle. Or the guards.
Opposite Luca, lounging on our front portico like an indolent alley cat, was the very last person I thought I’d see tonight, and my heart jolted like I’d been hit by a lightning strike.
I had to hand it to Marcello, when he wanted a job done right, he sent his best.
Nico Draconi’s dark coat was still damp from tonight’s fog, mixed with droplets of blood from his earlier carnage. There was nothing casual about his stance, no matter how relaxed he tried to act. His weight was perfectly centered against the doorjamb, capable, empty hands ready for violence.
And I knew how fast he could move.
A threat that was far too close to my brother, radiating menace like decent people radiated joy.
Logically, there was only one reason for Nico to be here tonight. Marcello had changed his mind and decided a dead DiRavello was better than having one as a daughter-in-law.
Not-so-logically, I’d just watched Nico save three humans and wipe their memories so they didn’t have any trauma when they woke up tomorrow. Didn’t quite seem like the bride-murdering type, but maybe I was being overly optimistic.
“Get. The. Fuck. Out,” Luca snapped, biting off each word as he took a step forward. “You don’t cross our thresholds without invitation. I don’t give a fuck who you say you are.”
Now chest to chest with my twin, Nico’s slow grin was infuriating on a multitude of levels. “I’m already inside, aren’t I? That means someone invited me, ragazzo.”
Gods, if I’d expected a confession, there it was. Marcello sent his best assassin, and Luca was going to get himself killed, unless I stopped this.
I started down the stairs, letting my heels land hard, both of them turning.
“I’m right here,” I called, hoping to distract the impending murder of my brother in our front hall. Nico’s eyes snapped to me like twin daggers, a ghost of a smile on his face that gave me the shivers.
Luca’s eyes widened. “Ember, go back upstairs. I’m handling this.”
“Nonsense,” I replied, skimming down the steps as fast as I could without looking desperate. “We have a guest, Luca. We should welcome him inside.”
Nico’s gaze swept over me, quick but mercilessly thorough, the cold appraisal of a killer.
Up close, his eyes were a surprising shade of pale brown, lingering a fraction too long on my flushed face, my sweaty neck, my damp hair, plastered to my forehead. Suddenly, I was too aware of the knife hidden up my sleeve.
“I was just going through some old boxes before the wedding.” I grinned, open and happy and edged with nerves, the picture of an anxious bride.
Or what I imagined a nervous bride might feel like on the eve of her wedding night.
Trying very hard not to look like a bride plotting to murder everyone in the groom’s party.