Chapter 41 #2
He launched into an overly complex briefing, but the gist was simple. Mortal arms dealer. Too ambitious for his own good. He’d begun asking questions you didn’t ask if you wanted to remain alive in our world. Now, he’d gone from useful to dangerous.
“We’ve all used him over the years,” Rocco explained cheerfully. “Me, Severin, Marcello. Even Enzo once, in the old days. But Volkov has made some new friends… I Ceneratori. If he decides to open his mouth and sell us out…”
I Ceneratori. The Ash Makers. Vampire hunters.
“He won’t live long enough,” Severin proclaimed. “Nico will see to it.”
Marcello’s fingers drummed against the table, his gaze slipping to me.
“If he has partnered with the hunters, silencing him is one solution,” he said, “but a sloppy one. The I Ceneratori are already sniffing around our operations. If he suddenly disappears, they’ll dig deeper, create complications. I’d rather… discredit him.”
“Rendering him useless to his business partners,” Emilia mused. “Clever.” My father preened at her compliment, and it struck me how smoothly she played them all, stroking delicate egos with a few choice words.
Emberline had been right to approach her first.
Luca’s gaze narrowed on me. “And where does he come into this? In fact, why is he here at all?”
“Ah.” Rocco’s smile sharpened. “This is the best part of the plan.” He tapped a cluster of red dots on the map of the mainland.
“Volkov’s newest warehouse. Guarded by the latest security measures, rotating patrols, even the local Polizia make regular drivebys.
Impenetrable, by Volkov’s own boasting.” Those canny eyes met mine.
“There is over ten million in weaponry stored inside that warehouse. Break in, use your magic. I want every single gun rendered worthless. Warp the metal, break the firing pins, whatever you have to do. I want him selling damaged, unusable equipment, and within a week, he’ll be out of business.”
“Absolutely not,” Marcello hissed before I could open my mouth. “I’m not unleashing a monster on the mortal world. He’ll turn this into a bloodbath.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing.” Rocco’s grin was too wide to be anything but a threat. “Besides, who said I was asking?”
“Okay, I’ll bite,” I met Rocco’s dark gaze. “What makes you think I’ll go along with this?”
“Oh, nothing at all,” Rocco smiled. “Just… a hunch.” Bruno stepped forward and dropped a folder on the table. My host flipped it open, and the scent of fresh paper and ink hit me in the face.
Photos. Reports. A familiar name here, a blood-splattered photograph there. Enough for me to know I was thoroughly fucked.
The fire at my back threw off more heat, and the darkness inside me took shape, a flame wreathed monster full of violence, capable of reducing this room to ash in a matter of seconds.
I rubbed my chest, digging the heel of my palm into the tattoos, forcing myself to regain control and deal with the problem at hand.
Rocco had collected proof of illicit jobs I’d taken after I’d escaped the pits, during that dark year when I’d been clawing my way back into the world, hungry for blood, addicted to violence, hardened to things like pain, morality, and the sound of screaming.
Fighting to contain this fire breathing monster trapped inside me.
Sins I never thought would see the light of day, yet here they were, displayed for all to see.
Guilt and shame balled up in my throat, but I forced myself to smile down at Rocco, imagining how good it would feel to tear his throat out.
“Aren’t you thorough? I never took you to be a paperwork kind of guy.”
“Honestly, I hate it,” Rocco agreed lightly. “But you gave me the idea when you buried your father in front of the Council. I realized how much leverage I would have if these ever made their way to the wrong desk.”
Hot, choking rage flashed through me, but I forced my hands to stay loose at my sides instead of wrapping around his throat.
“Blackmailing your own ally. Again. You should be ashamed.” Severin shot me a sympathetic look. “Don’t take it personally, Dante.” He waved his hand as if to dismiss this entire business. “We’ve all been in your shoes once or twice.” An unexpected show of support from an unexpected ally.
Emilia’s red lips curled with distaste as she looked between the stack of papers and Rocco’s grinning face.
“And if I refuse?”
“Membership in the Dynasty is tenuous, at best. Think of this as a way to further cement your standing.” Rocco flicked one of the photographs with a fingernail, and the paper made a small, ugly sound.
“Fine. The guns will be unusable when I’m done.” I breathed through my nose, “Volkov will be discredited, and you will never blackmail me again. Are we clear?”
“As glass.” Rocco clapped his hands together. “See how easy it is to get along? We should join the others. I wouldn’t want to deprive you of an entertaining evening with your beautiful wife.”
Marcello stormed out first, not bothering to look back. Rocco pushed away from the table, and the others followed. I waited for them to go, intending to be the last one through the door.
My brother fell into step with me, tension rippling off him in waves. “You’re being set up,” he warned in a low voice. “Volkov has gotten rich off us; there is no way he’d cut off his main source of income by partnering up with I Ceneratori.”
“Stay away from me, Gabriel. This is my mess to clean up.”
“Not if you drag us all down with you.” He shook his head. “You could have fucking warned me what you were planning the other night, Dante. You’re a real asshole, do you know that?”
“Yeah.” I dragged my hand through my hair as Rocco turned, wheels turning inside his lizard brain when he saw us together.
“I know I am. Stay out of this.” The second Rocco disappeared into the crowd, I grabbed his arm.
“I mean it, Gabriel. Stay away from me. Keeping your distance is safer until this is over.”
“After the shit you’ve pulled, I won’t have any problem staying away, brother.” He shoved me back a step, then vanished behind Rocco, the crowd craning their necks to get a better look.
Good. Gossip would spread that Gabriel and I were on the outs. A servant holding a tray passed by, and I was reaching for a glass when a familiar voice slithered in from behind me, horror trickling down my spine.
“Well, well, look who crawled out of the gutter and put on a tie.”
I took a bracing sip of the shit wine, smoothed over my expression, and turned to face the impending disaster that was Valeria Demente.
She leaned against the stone archway like she owned this castle, which, being Rocco’s daughter…
she did. Unlike her stocky, brutish father, she took after her mother.
Tall and willowy with skin like warm honey, her pale gold hair spilled over her shoulders, her gown painted onto her generous curves like molten metal.
Like her father, she was corrupt to the core, a complete stranger to the truth, and possibly the most dangerous female I’d ever known, except for my wife.
“You look simply delicious in that suit, Dante.” She pushed off the wall and crossed the space between us with no hesitation, no shame when she pressed her tits against my chest, no respect for the fact that I was fucking married.
Or that her father was throwing this nightmarish fiasco to celebrate that marriage.
Her hand slid around my arm, fingers hooking into the crook of my elbow. Right where my wife’s arm had been, less than an hour ago, and I stopped myself from gagging. Or pushing her away.
Causing a scene right now wouldn’t get us any closer to our goal.
That’s what I told myself, nose flaring as the scent of her arousal hit me full in the face, revolting me on a visceral level.
“I heard the black sheep finally returned home,” she purred. “I had to see if the rumors were true.”
“Disappointed I survived?” I asked, trying to extricate myself, but she was like glue, body fused to mine like a burr I couldn’t scrape off.
Her greedy gaze flicked over my face, my shoulders, my chest. “Not yet. Let’s see how damaged you are. Or if you can still fuck like the beast I remember.”
In a rare moment of shell-shocked silence, that last part rang loudly, and the hum of conversation around us died off before picking up again, the gossip mongers going into overtime.
Fuck my life.
Valeria was everything I despised about vampires. Everything I hated about immortality.
Careless, cruel, and petty. Looking at her now… I could not believe I’d ever seen her as anything other than a noxious threat. But the old me had been too trusting, and I hadn’t met Emberline.
Now everything was different.
“Don’t you have someone else to annoy?” I snarled, stopping her fingers from walking up my chest. “Other lives to ruin? Countries to topple?”
“I’m good at multitasking.” She smiled sweetly, her free hand toying with my waistband. “Relax, Dante, I’m simply providing Rocco with his entertainment for the evening. Don’t disappoint him, not when we’re going to be such good friends again.”
“We were never friends, Valeria.” I finally trapped her wrist and yanked her roaming hand away from my body before she shoved it down my pants. “We were hate-fucking and barely speaking; that was it.”
“Well,”—she batted her overly mascaraed eyelashes at me—“I don’t know what happened to your voice, but I like it. That rasp gives me the chills and gets me wet at the same time.”
“Someone called the Overseer tried to cut my head off, my vocal cords grew back—eventually—but not the right way,” I told her matter-of-factly, disgust running through my veins like poison. “Which only meant he tried harder to kill me the next time.”
“That’s hot, actually,” she crooned, eyes glowing with interest. “What else did they do to you?”
Saints, what the fuck was wrong with her?
I should have pushed her away. Should have put about five hundred miles between us and a restraining order.
But I didn’t.
I told myself I was being strategic. That letting Valeria cling to me like a leech kept the crowd wondering, kept Marcello distracted, kept everyone thinking I was nothing but a reckless idiot, not a threat that would tear their corrupt little world down around them.
Cheater, a quieter part of me whispered. The part that had my skin crawling every time she touched me. The part that hated being touched, remembering nothing but the pain of the pits.
The bite of the Overseer’s whip.
A wave of quiet spread through the room, the air sizzling with tension, conversations snapping off, music softening.
Then I saw her.
Emberline halted ten paces away, midnight velvet hugging her curves, her back straight as a queen’s, the absolute picture of regal perfection.
Her eyes flared, then narrowed, that careful mask sliding seamlessly into place, replacing that split-second of vulnerability that knocked something loose in my chest.
For a heartbeat, I forgot Valeria’s hand on my arm, forgot Rocco’s wicked amusement. Forgot the noise, the heat, the crowd, all of it falling away like the world didn’t exist.
There was only her.
My wife.
The knife I’d willingly put at my own throat. The blade I’d willingly let her sink into my heart, if only this could all be real, if everything wasn’t pretend.
But it was.
I had to keep reminding myself…it was.
Then Rocco slung an arm around my shoulders, yanking me a step closer. Valeria stayed glued to my other side, fingernails dug into my chest like claws, drawing lazy little circles over the fabric of my shirt.
“Smile, my friend.” Rocco clapped his hand on my shoulder. “You’re on stage.”