Chapter 43
EMBERLINE
By the time the sun broke over the city, I’d already put over thirty knives through Dante’s face.
His pretend face, anyway.
The training room was cold enough, my breath ghosted in front of me, my bare feet gripping the scuffed mat. At some point, someone—Dante, obviously—had tacked a rough sketch of a target onto the far wall. I’d improved it this morning with a few strokes of charcoal.
Broad shoulders. Smirking mouth.
Lying, turquoise eyes.
My fourth knife missed one of those eyes by a hair and buried itself in his forehead with a satisfying thunk.
“Come on, Emberline,” I muttered. “You’re better than this.”
The muscles in my right shoulder and thighs burned from hours of repetition. Good. I wanted every part of me to ache with something other than the memory of how Valeria’s gold dress had clung to her body as she rubbed up against Dante on that godsdamned dance floor.
She’d acted as if she owned him. Like I didn’t even exist.
Another knife. Right through his treasonous throat.
If I closed my eyes, I could still see them together—her hand splayed possessively over his chest before drifting down to his waistband, his mouth quirking in that lazy, dangerous half-smile, the flash of white fangs when he’d laughed at something she said.
Motherfucker. I was clenching my jaw so tight, my entire face hurt.
Jealousy was a stupid emotion.
Useless in the grand scheme of things.
And besides, I wasn’t jealous. I had nothing to be jealous about. We weren’t together in any sense of the word except for the illusion we’d created, a smokescreen to hide behind while we both sought out our revenge.
Except… not everything felt like an illusion. That kiss, those dark, longing looks, the way Dante laughed, the way he touched me. All of that seemed real.
And the way I reacted when Valeria touched him.
I’d never felt anger so intense, so disorienting, so fucking soul-wrenching.
So here I was, throwing knives at my husband’s imaginary face before breakfast like some heartsick girl who’d caught her boyfriend in bed with her high school rival.
Trying to convince myself our marriage was strategy, not a fairy tale.
A business contract, not a vow of fucking celibacy.
Because watching him with Valeria had torn something hot and ugly open inside me, like a big, gaping wound I couldn’t stitch closed, no matter how many knives I threw or how many times I told myself none of this mattered.
I yanked a knife from the wall, stepped back, and threw again. This one landed low, right in between his legs.
“Perfect,” I muttered under my breath. “If I cut off your cock, maybe that bitch won’t want you at all.”
The door behind me opened with a delicate rush of air.
I didn’t turn. “Luca, if you’re here to lecture me before I’ve had a drop of caffeine, I swear to every god listening—”
“It’s not Luca.” Dante’s deep, raspy voice slid through me, familiar and unwelcome and leaving me infuriatingly bothered. “Nice shot by the way. Dare I ask who you are thinking about emasculating?”
“Guess.” I pulled another knife off the shelf and let the blade hang loosely from my fingers. Probably a mistake, given my temper, but I liked that worried set to Dante’s brow. “You might even get the answer right.”
A blinding burn of rage poured through me. I was caught in the middle of a raging storm, helpless as the winds buffeted me, unable to catch my breath or find my footing.
“You’ve been up here awhile,” he said gently, refusing to take the bait. “The neighbors are going to complain about all the noise.”
“The neighbors are superstitious mortals who think this building is haunted,” I retorted. “Tell them to file a fucking complaint with the ghost police.”
The morning light slanted through the high windows, catching on the strong planes of his forearms and his scarred knuckles. Barefoot, in a worn black t-shirt and loose training pants, hair long and tousled, Dante looked like he just rolled out of bed.
Except I knew for a fact he’d been up all night, pacing.
His gaze flicked to the knives embedded in the wall, the rough, sloppy charcoal-drawn face. One eyebrow rose. “Is that supposed to be me?”
I shrugged a shoulder. “I needed proper motivation this morning.”
“Motivation is seldom your problem.” He studied the knife lodged in the drawn throat, then the one sticking out between the dummy’s legs. “You’re drifting a little low. If you really wanted me dead, you’d go for the eye.”
“Maybe I don’t want you dead right away,” I countered. “Maybe I want you to suffer.”
Silence stretched until the tension became uncomfortable for us both.
His wild, oceanic gaze pinned me down. Waiting. With the patience of a fucking monk.
My fury was something happening outside of myself, like a breathing, living thing of uncontrollable power. If this broken, jagged feeling was the other side of love, then I didn’t want to know what love was, because this… this hurt too fucking bad.
“We need to talk about last night,” he said finally, breaking first.
“No,” I shook my head and backed away. “We absolutely don’t.”
“Emberline—”
The knife left my hand before I even realized I’d released it, singing through the cold air before burying itself dead center in his left eye—the painted one—the entire wall shuddering from the force.
“There,” I pivoted toward him on my heel. “Was that what you meant?”
His jaw tightened, but he didn’t relinquish a single inch. “If you’re done trying to kill pretend me, maybe you could listen to what I have to say.”
“Oh, I heard plenty last night,” I snapped.
“Saw plenty last night, with my own two eyes, so please, don’t disrespect me or my intelligence by pretending this was all a misunderstanding.
Because somewhere between the blackmail and the toasts to our happiness, I also got the distinct impression you didn’t mind so much having your ex-lover draped over you like a fucking second skin. ”
Gods, just stop blathering already, Emberline.
His expression shuttered. “Valeria was—”
“Don’t.” The word got stuck in my throat for a second before it came out. “Do not say her name, do not tell me last night was nothing. I don’t want to hear your lies.”
A muscle ticked in his cheek. “What exactly would you like me to say? That I should have made a scene after Rocco went to so much trouble to set me up as the unfaithful husband? We were there to play our parts, and that’s what I was doing… playing.”
“Well, I’m sold. You did a convincing job.
” I gripped the hilt of my knife until my palm hurt.
“How delightful it was to be blindsided. Walking into a room and finding out I’m the only one who didn’t know you’d fucking dated Rocco’s only daughter.
That the two of you had been fucking engaged, and all you needed was the mating ceremony to make things official. ”
His mouth flattened. “That’s not—”
“Nico told me everything,” I continued, riding the wave of my own fury because if I stopped, I might do something worse.
“And I had to stand there and smile while she touched you as if she owned you, while the rest of those vultures watched to see if I’d crack.
I’ve never had so much fun at a party in my life. ”
Guilt flashed in his eyes.
Good, I wanted to howl. Suffer, just like I’m suffering.
Endure this torturous, aching pain I’ve been enduring for hours.
“I didn’t know she’d be there,” he bit out.
“I didn’t… think, Emberline. All I was thinking about was you, the way your bare shoulders looked in the candlelight, the way your hair curled at the ends, the.
..” He shook his head. “Then Rocco paraded Valeria in front of me like a fucking weapon, and I decided to…”
“Play along?” I snapped, furious he’d looked at me like that... then allowed himself to be caught in Rocco’s trap, anyway. “I never knew you were such an accomplished actor because you sure as fuck didn’t look like you were playing. Her hand was practically around your cock.”
His gaze turned flinty. “You think I enjoyed that?”
“Everyone in that room enjoyed the show you put on,” I panted, fury making it impossible to breathe.
“You don’t think I know how the entire Dynasty looks at me?
Valeria is beautiful, part of the corrupt, powerful elite.
I’m an outsider, a weak link in their circle of influence.
A DiRavello. Good for loans, but nothing else.
My guess is, she already floated the idea of you ditching me so you two can get married and start a brand new Demente bloodline? ”
His stony expression told me everything I needed to know.
“Games are played on a bigger board now, Dante, and not one you can smash through with your fists and bad attitude. Rocco wants you for his heir. He has no sons, and the misogynistic bastard won’t leave his council seat to a daughter.
But if you married her, and he could bring you into the fold, what better way to hand-pick your own successor? ”
“You got all that from… seeing Valeria and me together?”
“And Rocco’s little speech, which sealed the deal.” I shook my head, and the world spun a little. “I grew up with these scavengers, and they’ve always underestimated me. I don’t have an army or blood priests or powerful magic.” I turned away, blinking, willing myself not to cry in front of him.
It was exhausting, always being trivialized. Overlooked. Sidelined.
To fight and scratch and sweat, harder than the rest of them, just to be seen.
“My only skill was to watch and learn, to see the plans within the plans, then outthink my opponents. By recognizing the weaknesses they tried to hide. That’s how Enzo survived all those years and is probably the reason he was killed.”
Dante winced at the mention of my father’s name, and grief settled into me like a stone.
I was so tired of fighting. So tired of always having to outthink and outmaneuver everyone around me because they were bigger, stronger. Because they had magic.