Chapter 46
DANTE
Nico was waiting for me when the sun came up.
“Calling this a kitchen is generous, though I did find the coffee,” he lifted his cup in salute.
Maybe he was right. The cracked walls were more brick than plaster, the cabinets were lacking doors, and the tiny gas stove only worked half the time. But my wards thrummed in the walls, a reminder that for all its decay, this place was safer than any palace in the lagoon.
“You look like shit,” he said mildly.
I grabbed the other mug and ignored him. My body ached in a way that had nothing to do with fighting and everything to do with the female currently sleeping upstairs in my bed.
Emberline Dominico.
My wife.
The female who was my undoing and my salvation and probably would be the death of me.
I leaned against the counter, fingers tapping on the scarred wood. The house felt different this morning—less hollow, as if her very presence had filled the cracks in the foundation, and the cracks in me, the way her scent clung to my skin like a balm.
The way her taste still coated my mouth.
Warm, slightly feral, edged with steel.
Nico watched me over the rim of his mug, those pale eyes sharp. “So,” he drawled. “After the disaster at Rocco’s, I take it you two lovebirds made up?”
I shot him a look. “I’m not discussing my wife with you.”
“That well, huh?” He snorted, but there was a bitterness in those words, a tightness around his mouth. “Have you told her everything? Anything?”
The question hung between us as I shook my head. “No.”
Regret was something I’d learned to live with long ago. From the beginning, I’d told myself I was protecting Ember, keeping her away from the ugliness of my past. From the dangerous ghosts that might creep out of the darkness and get to me by hurting her.
But lying to her any longer would break me.
Or worse—would break this fragile trust between us.
“You planning on it?” There was an edge in Nico’s voice, an accusation that sent my hackles rising. “Before she figures out you’ve dragged her into the middle of a war?”
“I didn’t drag her anywhere,” I snapped, sharper than I meant to. “Giovanni did that when he traded her to Marcello as part of his little game.”
Nico arched a brow. “Why are you complaining? You came out the winner in that trade, fratello.”
I couldn’t deny that truth.
I’d stolen her from my brother and was happier than I’d ever been in my life. Except now I had everything to lose. This wasn’t just my life at risk. Emberline’s was at stake, which was why I’d opted for secrecy up to this point.
I’d been trying to keep her safe.
But safety and the truth were like oil and water, and I had made her a promise. A promise I intended to keep.
“I’ve been a coward,” I admitted softly, ashamed it took me this long to realize it. “I’ll tell her everything. Let her decide if she wants to stay… or go.”
And if she left me… well, I’d pick up the pieces of my shattered heart and toss them in the canal because after her, I would never love like this again.
A floorboard creaked in the hallway.
“Well…” Nico’s eyes lit up in anticipation. “Speak of the devil.”
She was usually so quiet I didn’t hear her, so that creak was a courtesy, warning us she was coming. Then she stepped into the doorway, straight into a beam of morning light, and my carefully constructed mask of indifference fell apart.
She was wearing my shirt.
The white fabric hung loose on her tiny frame, the sleeves rolled up, the hem skimming muscled thighs.
Her hair was a delicious mess—she had it pulled back, but dark curls framed her gorgeous face.
I clenched my hands, remembering how my fingers had tugged and threaded through those glorious strands, sleep still hazing her espresso brown eyes.
Then Emberline smiled, and the entire world fell away.
For one perfect second, it was just the two of us. No strategic pretend marriage, no revenge, no plots, just two people who fate had thrown together, and for once, the universe had smiled.
“Well, it seems you two are enjoying married life,” Nico, ever the asshole, drawled.
Every trace of softness vanished. Her spine snapped straight, her expression slamming shut so fast, it was like watching a door lock.
“Why is he here?” she demanded, her low tone bordering on dangerous.
Nico lifted his free hand in a lazy half-wave. “Buongiorno, bella. You make excellent choices in nightwear. I totally approve.”
The air in the room dropped ten degrees as I toyed with killing the bastard right where he sat. I could dump him in the canal after dark. I suspected my wife would be my willing accomplice.
“Say that again,” she hissed, “and I’ll slit your throat with the butter knife. Let me rephrase that. Why is a Draconi soldier, one of your father’s allies, in our kitchen?”
“I invited him here, Ember,” I explained. “Nico is an old friend.”
She didn’t look at me. Her eyes were fixed on Nico, as if calculating his impending murder. Whatever sleepy innocence there’d been a moment ago was gone, replaced by the female who’d stared down my father without flinching.
Nico gave me a sideways glance. “Your wife’s terrifying. It must be a love match. I approve.”
“If you don’t shut up, she really will stab you.” I leaned against the kitchen counter and took another sip, admiring the way my shirt clung to her in all the right places. “And if she doesn’t, I sure as fuck will if you keep looking at her like that.”
“You’re a beautiful female, principessa,” Nico flirted shamelessly.
I was tempted to gut him with a butter knife, but we only had one, and I honestly didn’t know where it was.
“Is he your brother’s friend, your father’s protector,”—her scorching hot gaze swung to me—“or your accomplice, husband? Because I saw you two meeting. Exchanging… secrets. Pretending to be enemies in public but allies in private.”
Fuck. Now her standoffish behavior before Rocco’s party made sense.
“There is a lot you don’t know, Emberline. I want to tell you everything, but the truth…” I hesitated. “The truth is dangerous. More dangerous than hunting down your father’s killer.”
“Don’t lecture me on danger like I’m a child. You said we were in this together. You neglected to mention Nico was in this, too.”
“No more secrets,” I insisted. The words came out rough, but I didn’t take them back.
Ember’s eyes narrowed. “Promises, promises.”
“Sometimes, secrets are meant to keep people safe, Emberline,” I counseled. “But I owe you the entire truth, as difficult as this will be. Just know I only meant to shield you, as long as I could. Nico is here because… he is a big part of that truth.”
I poured her a mug of coffee and set it in front of her. Her fingers brushed mine for half a second—and some of the fight in her eyes softened. Then she wrapped both hands around the mug and glared at me over the rim as if it was a shield between us.
“All right, I have coffee,” she muttered. “Now, somebody had better start talking.”
The kitchen suddenly felt more constrictive than my old prison cell. I leaned back against the chipped counter, needing something solid to brace me up in order to meet my wife’s condemning glare head-on.
But godsdamn, she looked good in my shirt.
“You know Marcello controls everyone’s future, including yours. But what you don’t know is how he became Don in the first place.”
“He was never supposed to be Don,” Nico cut in. “He didn’t have the temperament.”
She looked between us, frown deepening. “That’s not true. Marcello was always Salvatore’s chosen heir. The Shadow Council certified his claim. The Blood Compact confirmed his worthiness, and he’s been in power ever since. I’ve heard this story a hundred times from Uncle Gio.”
“That story was built on a lie.” I swallowed. “A fabricated history that still stands today because there are only two Dynasty members alive who remember what happened back then.”
“Three, if you count Emilia,” Nico corrected. “Even though she’d never admit to her age.”
Silence settled over the room. Outside, the city continued on, the distant lap of water against stone, the faint cry of gulls. I picked up the coffee pot and topped off my wife’s cup.
“My grandsire, Salvatore, had two sons. Lorenzo, his blooded son and heir, who he trained since birth to inherit his title. And Marcello, his illegitimate bastard.”
“I… didn’t know Marcello was illegitimate,” Ember admitted, looking slightly stunned. “As far as Lorenzo, I heard he died young.” She squinted, like she was trying to remember. “An accident of some kind.”
“He did die young,” I agreed. “But the myth built around his death… that betrayal is the foundation Marcello has built his entire empire on. An empire that would crumble if the truth ever came out. Our neat and tidy world would get very messy.”
“I don’t think neat and tidy means the same thing to you that it does to me,” Nico muttered, staring down into his empty coffee mug. I sighed, then emptied the dredges into his cup.
“Lorenzo was the eldest by a hundred years,” I explained. Emberline had to hear this part to understand why we were risking everything to expose the ancient past.
“He was stronger than even Salvatore. Smarter. More even-tempered. Studied at all the best schools, knew all the right people. The obvious heir. Marcello… was a bastard born to one of his many mistresses, who grew up lowborn and uneducated. Useful for his cunning. Ruthless in certain situations. But he was considered too volatile, too vindictive to ever make a good Don.”
Ember’s fingers tightened around her mug. “What kind of accident did Lorenzo have?”
I looked at Nico.
“You want the pretty version?” he asked. “The one that was duly recorded in our official books? Or the one where Marcello took his half-brother hunting on the mainland and dragged Lorenzo’s ravaged body back with him with over a hundred stab wounds?”
Her breath hitched.
“An attack was the official story,” I volunteered. “Marcello claimed a roaming band of I Ceneratori cornered them and killed Lorenzo. He died a hero, by all accounts.”
“Marcello didn’t have a mark on him,” Nico added. “There were no reports of vampire hunters in the area at that time, no other attacks, no witnesses to corroborate his story. The Shadow Council wanted to open a formal investigation, but all calls for an inquiry were shut down.”
“Salvatore suspected foul play,” I added, to answer her obvious question. “He wasn’t blind to his bastard son’s ambitions.”
“Yet he still named Marcello heir.” Ember shook her head. “I don’t understand. Why choose Marcello if he couldn’t be trusted? Who would have blocked an investigation when the circumstances were so… suspicious?” She looked between us, brow furrowed. “What am I missing?”
“Salvatore’s consigliere, Giovanni DiRavello, suggested that Marcello might make a proper Don, after all, despite his many… faults.”
“That makes no sense.” Ember gripped her coffee. “The way my uncle tells the story, he was cheated out of that title and has resented Marcello ever since.”
“Have you ever heard the saying ‘Wise men rule from the shadows?’” At her faint nod, I explained, “Giovanni had no real interest in the responsibilities of the throne. He’s always been more suited to pulling strings from behind the curtains and using his network of spies and secrets to influence power from a safe position. ”
I let that truth hang between us, knowing it would take Ember time to see her uncle in this new light. She still had a soft spot for the soulless bastard.
And she had to see him for the snake he was, not the trusted uncle who’d raised her.
“Even with Giovanni’s urging,” I went on, “Salvatore still had reservations about Marcello, who couldn’t risk losing the title. So, he went to the one D’Immortali family strong enough to alter minds and futures.”
“The DiSangue Order,” Ember whispered.
Nico grunted. “With the right spell, their priests can twist a man’s thoughts. Strip his will. Control him.”
“How do you even know all this?” Ember demanded.
“I had a source I trusted implicitly,” I said.
“He showed me written proof, from how Marcello killed Lorenzo to bribing the priests to how he murdered his own father. Fifty years ago, this source was planning to go public, and I swore to support him. As heir to the Dynasty, my word carried some weight back then.”
“Was that…” She licked her lips. “That was when Marcello made you disappear.”
“I didn’t disappear because I disobeyed my sire. I disappeared because I discovered the truth of who my father really is. You aren’t the only one who wants revenge, tesoro. I am owed fifty years of blood and suffering.”
For a moment, Ember and I stared at each other.
“We are aligned in our motives. More so than you know. My father has to be stopped.” I paused. “But there is someone even more dangerous who presents a bigger threat.”
“A few days after Marcello’s ascension ceremony,” Nico interrupted, going back to the story, “Salvatore was found dead in his study.”
“And no one investigated?” The mug in her hands trembled, coffee sloshing up and over the rim, dripping onto the table.
“According to my source, a few tried, but in those early days, Marcello consolidated power quickly. With Giovanni acting as his consigliere, Purging became his favorite tool. Anyone who questioned the legitimacy of his succession disappeared, along with their entire line.”
I rubbed my throbbing temples, willing the headache building behind my eyes to stop, not that it would. Because this wasn’t even the worst of the family secrets.
This was only the beginning.