Chapter 50
EMBERLINE
Iwoke up alone in the dark—irritated and wondering where Dante had gone, presumably to plot his sire’s imminent downfall with Nico and Gabriel—while I lay in bed, telling myself I wasn’t going to do anything stupid.
Don’t make a mistake now, Ember. You are so close to having everything you’ve ever wanted.
Besides, revenge is overrated.
By the time I lost that argument, my boots were already laced, my knives were strapped to my thigh, and my hand was opening the latch of the door to the roof, which definitely needed another coat of olive oil.
I was just a little bit—okay, a lot—pissed my husband vanished into thin air without so much as a word.
Or a note. Especially after giving me three mind-blowing orgasms.
If he could disappear on some secretive mission, then so could I.
In any case, I wasn’t sitting around with my thumb in my ass while Giovanni was walking around free, drinking my father’s brandy and sitting in his chair, pretending he was in charge.
If my uncle had buried his dirty secrets beneath the palazzo, then playing the part of the good little wife was a waste of my well-honed talents.
I knew that palazzo like the back of my hand, had memorized every security code, knew a handy unsealing charm, and could get in and out through the broken garden window unseen. And I didn’t rule by committee.
I made decisive decisions and carried them out myself.
Besides, I’d be home before my husband, and if I brought back that proof, we’d be further ahead.
I eased the hatch open, and heavy night air rushed in. In the distance, the moon rose over the city, giving it the look of some place magical, unchanged for hundreds of years, and St. Marco’s bells tolled, the mournful sound smothered by the haze of light rain.
Half an hour later, I studied the family palazzo, all marble and shadow, hunched over the canal, sinking another inch every year. Enzo used to joke that it didn’t matter, as long as the wine cellar stayed dry.
A light flicked on, then off inside, one of the front doors opening, just enough to allow my uncle to slip through. He was almost indistinguishable from the night, with a dark cloak thrown over his brown habit, a hood over his head, but I’d know that shambling gait anywhere.
It took me a second to identify the tight knot at my center.
The one that felt both like the heaviest weight I’d ever carried and the cold bite of a knife into my skin.
I’d only thought I knew what hatred felt like, tasted like, as I realized my fangs had punched through my tongue, blood flooding my mouth. In our world, being betrayed by an ally was expected, but by the male who’d held your hand when you were learning to walk… was unspeakably cruel.
Giovanni whistled faintly as he walked along the swollen canal, an old song my father had loved. Anger turned into a tight throat and blurred vision, and when I blinked the tears away, my murdering uncle was gone.
I leapt from one roof to my own, boots gripping the slick tiles, more afraid of the overflowing canal below than the stone. One wrong move and that would be the end of Emberline DiRavello Dominico, because I couldn’t swim to save my life.
The cameras along the roofline had been disabled, their blinking lights dark. Even worse, the house wards were down, and the Draconi guards were gone. The palazzo was fast asleep with all the confidence of a powerful vampire family who thought trouble long past and themselves invincible.
Foolish arrogance.
Luca was inside, probably asleep, I thought angrily. With me gone, my brother trusted my uncle to handle the security, and the fucking house was wide open.
First thing tomorrow, I’d be back, and this shit was getting handled.
The garden window with the broken latch gave way easily, and I crept through the back corridor, with its delicate, hand-blown chandeliers and frescoed ceilings, past the old kitchens, seldom used these days, then my father’s beloved wine cellar, where dust lay thick on the racks and clammy stone sweated around me.
Beyond that lay the storage room, vacant now, except for a few sacks of flour and some rice since neither my brother nor my uncle ate real food, apparently.
I pulled on the edge of the empty shelves, and they swung silently on oiled hinges, revealing a door hiding a secret, one long kept by my father and his father before him.
A hidden room below the waterline. A safehouse for plunder back when Venice was a lawless port city of smuggling rings and black-market trade.
The scent of the lagoon—brine, mud, and something boggy sifted past half-rotted iron hinges on a warped wood door, the arched frame low enough that I had to duck. Once, there might have been a proper lock. Now, a simple steel bolt held the old door closed, the new metal slick under my fingers.
I hesitated, thumb resting on the latch.
If Giovanni had hidden the proof down here, he would have taken precautions, but…
I was here now.
I studied the doorframe. No sign of my uncle’s tampering, no extra warding, just that new deadbolt.
I slid the bolt back, waiting for Gio to jump out of the shadows, but there was nothing but the steady drip of water and the distant rush of the Grand Canal pressing against the ancient foundations.
I slipped inside and pulled out a small torch, illuminating the uneven stone stairs.
After ten steps, the air turned boggy enough, I tasted the lagoon on every breath.
At twenty, the world shrank to the narrow circle of light, then…
My boot splashed into knee-deep water, soaking through the leather as I stumbled forward, arms pinwheeling.
“Shit.”
The dark surface rippled, a thin film of scum catching the light.
I swallowed, wondering how deep the water would get, pulse jumping as I inched forward, shuffling my feet across what felt like stone.
“You’re the one who wanted Giovanni’s secrets, and this is where they are.”
As it turned out, the water never made it past my knees, and still, I panic-shuffled across the uneven floor, everything slippery with mud and algae. It was impossible to see anything past the dark, rippling surface, expecting the floor to fall out from beneath my feet any minute.
This was terrifying.
If I was facing an attacker, I could stab them.
But this? Water was an enemy I knew nothing about.
Near the domed ceiling, faint marks were carved into the pillars, sigils so old, the edges had blurred.
Old protective runes, I noted, shining my light over them. Sealing this section of the basement off, making it impossible to dematerialize in and out. Older than most of the city above my head, I guessed. If I went any farther, I’d be trapped.
“Now, where would you hide something that couldn’t get wet?” I wondered aloud.
“I know I’m right about this,” I whispered to myself, my light catching on a narrow archway half-concealed behind a tangle of rusted chains and hooks. Water swirled through that opening and disappeared into darkness, as if it was being drawn into another room.
Just. Fucking. Perfect.
Halfway to that archway, I dropped straight down, fear cutting off my scream, my feet finally hitting bottom when the water hit my chest.
I gasped, flailing to keep my balance, boots sliding on the silty bottom as I fought to keep my head above water. Panting for breath, terrified by this horrible sensation of being smothered by cold, dark water chilling me to the bone, I tried to turn, floundering to get back to those steps.
Stop panicking, Emberline.
It’s only water, and your feet are firmly on the ground.
You can’t give up now.
I ran through the breathing exercises my uncle—of all people—taught me, a long breath through my nose and a hard, fast exhale through my mouth, which left me gagging on the boggy taste.
Somehow, I’d managed to keep the flashlight above the surface, otherwise… I’d be fucked.
Twice more through the breathing exercises, and I could almost say I was calm.
I was freezing, every slow step like plodding through thick molasses, my torchlight flashing over the walls, the ceiling, the rippling surface of the black water.
Big, heavy iron rings were bolted into the stone walls, chains hanging from them, jangling quietly with every ebb and flow of the currents.
This was… how stupid people died.
Maybe I should go back.
I couldn’t swim. Which was the dumbest thing—a vampire, gifted with superhuman speed and strength, undone by a few feet of water.
Because Enzo didn’t raise a quitter, I edged forward another two steps, close enough my fingers brushed the rough stone wall, water lapping at my collarbone as I pushed up onto my toes and waved the torch around.
Gods, I must be insane. If I don’t see something, I’m turning around.
There, just above the water line, light glinted off metal.
A new, shiny latch on a watertight plastic box jammed into an alcove in the wall, the glow of a simple protective spell gently pulsing in the mortar.
“Oh, you bastard,” I breathed, “You really did…”
Something hard slammed into the back of my head.
Pain exploded behind my eyes, white-hot and blinding. The world lurched; my cheek smashed into the rough wall, skin ripping. Water rushed into my mouth, cold and choking.
Then the world went black.