Chapter 39
EMBERLINE
My father liked to tell a story when I was small, his voice rumbling late into the night while the bells of Venice tolled the hours. Before the D’Immortali, there had been chaos—clans of violent vampires scattered across the isles, each carving out their territory through blood and fear.
Salvatore Dominico had not been the first vampire to try to bring order, but he had been the first to succeed.
Rather than risk extermination at the hands of roaming vampire hunters and the expanding purges of the Church, he proposed a rigid structure—five familial bloodlines, all answering to a single ruling empire, overseen by a council.
He had invited the strongest leaders to the Sala del Giuramento, and there, under frescoes of ancient painted saints who gasped in horror at our kind, they drafted the foundational order of our violent, bloodthirsty species.
Five families. Five pillars upon which our Dynasty rested.
The Dominico Empire, to rule and judge by fist and will.
The DiRavello Court, to weave alliances with clever words and false promises.
The Draconi Brotherhood, to enforce Dynasty law with steel and fang.
The Demente Syndicate, to move in shadow and gather secrets.
And the DiSangue Order, to sanctify Dynasty will with rites and blood.
Break the Compact and your entire line would be hunted down and erased, your holdings seized, your progeny burned to ash. Erasure was brutal. Efficient.
And thankfully, rare.
I’d grown up trapped inside that rigid structure, and over time, had learned to respect the brutal economy of the system that kept us all safe.
My sire had taught me to read ledger books instead of fairy tales.
How to smile at a rival while calculating exactly how much their death would profit us.
I’d become adept at playing the role of Emberline DiRavello, the good daughter.
Beautiful to a fault, quiet and poised, the picture of elegant breeding.
Tonight, I was Emberline Dominico.
A wolf in swan’s clothing, and I was trying to figure out how to play my new part.
“Emberline.” Emilia’s cold hand caught mine. “You remember my sons, Paulo and Vincenzo.” The two flanked her, both dark-haired and sharp-featured, gold—not tattooed—DiSangue sigils glinting at their throats.
“Of course.” I dipped my head respectfully. “It is nice to see you both. Thank you for welcoming us into your home.”
Emilia excused herself, saying something about checking on a guest.
Paolo’s sneering gaze swept over me, like one would study a piece of barely passable furniture. “You married up the food chain as it turns out. Your father would have been proud for forging such a… strong political alliance.”
What a fucking twat. I’d known Paolo since he was a little, pimply-faced moccioso, and he hadn’t changed a bit in twenty years. Still mommy’s spoiled favorite. Still a bully at heart.
Still no match for me, not even on his best day.
“Yes, he would have been proud.” I watched him swirl his thick drink, red coating the sides of the glass. “Since I am fulfilling the oath Enzo himself made, a century ago.”
“I heard he died alone.” Paolo’s lip curled back from his fangs. “I heard the DiRavello security is so pathetic that the assassin walked right in and out. It seems, Signorita DiRavello, your sire was not as clever as his reputation. Or perhaps he delved too deep into others’ affairs?”
It took everything in me not to take the bait.
Took all my strength to choke down the guilt that my failing might have caused his death.
“I highly doubt that since my sire was a careful male.” I gave him my most winning smile, wishing I could give him some terrible, deformative disease instead.
“As for delving into others’ affairs… perhaps you should stick to curses and rites, Paolo, and leave the financial matters of this Dynasty to those who know how to negotiate with your betters. ”
For a long moment, we stared at each other before he dropped his eyes. “I should go help my mother. There is much to prepare for tonight’s ceremony.”
“Your father would have been appalled,” Vincenzo sneered, after his brother vanished into the crowd.
We were surrounded by knots of curious vampires, but they were keeping their distance, and I was fighting to keep my temper in check.
Paolo was a blustering little twat, too twitchy to be any sort of threat, but Vincenzo… he took after his mother—power hungry and ruthless to a fault.
“Marrying the disgraced son of the Don. A fighter.” His nose wrinkled before he threw back the rest of his blood wine. “A fighter from the pits, no less. You degrade your family name.”
“We missed you yesterday at council.” I lifted two glasses of blood wine off a passing tray, handing a fresh one to Vincenzo. “But I’m sure you were quite busy with your rituals and spells. Too busy to attend a stuffy old council meeting with the rest of the Pentarch heads.”
“My mother required me to be elsewhere,” he said stiffly, tipping the second glass back and downing that one, too. “Perhaps it’s a good thing your father was bled out in his own courtyard before he saw what became of his daughter, whoring herself out to…”
“What do you know about my father being bled out?” I asked pleasantly, trying not to snap the delicate glass stem between my fingers. “Please, Vincenzo, tell me what you really think about me and my family. Don’t be shy now. We’ve known each other a long time.”
“Nothing,” he muttered, looking like a fool holding two empty glasses. “I don’t know anything.”
“Pity.” I smiled thinly. “I’ve been looking for someone with information about my father’s killing, and for a moment…
” My wide smile showed every inch of my fangs.
“I thought that person might be you.” I sighed dramatically.
“My husband has offered up his services in asking the questions. Perhaps he might help you remember more details? Put those pit-fighting skills to good use?”
The fucker blanched. “No, I’m… perhaps I’ve had too much to drink. If you’ll excuse me…”
He skittered off like a rat, leaving me alone, surrounded by a blur of congratulations, condolences, and morbid curiosity.
“Such a smart match for House DiRavello.”
“Dante, though. Can’t ever trust that one.”
“He looks dangerous.”
“He looks… fun.”
I smiled and nodded, laughing at the right times, looking somber at others. I had played this game since I could first string sentences together, and my education had been carved from long hours at my uncle’s side, absorbing every nuance of his endless plotting.
Dante did not have that advantage.
He was too wild, too impatient, too… honest.
His arrogance and brutality would only get him so far with these craven bloodsuckers, and once they had him where they wanted him, they would pounce and drain him dry.
I craned my neck, searching for the door he’d disappeared behind, but I wasn’t tall enough.
All I saw were flashing fangs and hungry eyes.
“Tell me the truth, Emberline.” A familiar voice appeared at my shoulder. “How does married life suit you?”
I found Nico Draconi beside me, arching an eyebrow. He was dressed with deceptive simplicity—dark suit, no tie, weapons bulging under his jacket—his aura all cool, coiled danger, with the unmistakable weight of the Draconi Brotherhood behind his pale, veiled eyes.
“Oh, you know, I’m living the dream.” I looked past him. “Speaking of which, have you seen my husband?”
“Hm.” Nico’s gaze flicked toward the closed salon doors that the male heads of Houses were undoubtedly locked behind. “The talk is that Rocco is seducing him over to the dark side. They’ve been in there long enough… they might be right.”
Something hot and ugly flared in my chest.
“He is not easily swayed,” I snapped. “Not by anyone, especially Rocco Demente.”
Nico’s head tilted, studying me. “You don’t like me speaking ill of your… husband, do you? Could this be the love match everyone is talking about?”
“No. He’s not…” I pressed my lips together, so I didn’t say anything stupid, and then, because I didn’t know what else to do, I took a sip of wine. It was too sweet, too heavy, and I instantly regretted my choice.
Nico’s mouth curved. “For the record, if I could have stopped the ceremony, I would have. But I couldn’t get through the fucker’s magic. Gabriel’s heartbroken. So am I, since you and I were getting on so well. Besties, almost.”
“You knew me for like half a day.” I rolled my eyes. “Stop saying ridiculous things, Nico.” But for some reason, I went all warm inside, as if he actually meant what he said.
His gaze sharpened, interest sparking. “And what do you plan to do with him?”
“Excuse me?”
“Dante, the guy you’re married to. Remember him?” Nico’s tone stayed mild. “You’re clever, not the type to waste assets. So, what will you do with him, now that he’s yours?”
He’s not mine, I wanted to say, but the words stuck.
Because the truth was… he was mine.
Not in the tender, romantic sense Nico and the rest of them thought. But in the only language that mattered now—blood, revenge, and power—Dante was mine as surely as I was his. Our bond had been sealed in front of witnesses and priests, our veins opened, our blood mingled together.
But while purpose bound us together tighter than blood, hate was what drove us.
“That’s a big assumption, Nico, that I have any plan at all. Maybe I’m just trying to swim through these shark-infested waters,”—I lifted my glass to the glittering crowd—“and not get eaten alive.”
“Such a beautiful little liar you are.” Nico laughed quietly. “Be careful, Emberline. You’re starting to sound just like the rest of them.”
“I am one of them,” I snapped, annoyed, for some reason. “I’ve been one of them since the day I was born, and I will be one of them until the day I die.”
But I didn’t want to be.
Not with how Nico looked at these bloodthirsty creatures—with pity and a fair amount of disgust.