Epilogue
GAbrIEL
The black boats floated silently on the glass-like lagoon.
A slow, silent file of lacquered obsidian skiffs gliding up to the private dock, where our family crest was carved into every possible surface, as if my sire was compelled to stamp ownership on everything within his domain, including me.
Their antique lanterns burnished the top of the black water with gold—mourning flames, my father called them—each wick fed with perfumed oil so the smoke would smell sweet instead of bitter.
As if sweetness could mask the evil he’d done.
I stood at Don Marcello’s right, expression impassive, head held high.
The dutiful son.
The loyal heir.
The male who would carry the family fortunes forward once my father was gone.
Almost on cue, Marcello drew a white handkerchief from his pocket and coughed, a rasping death rattle every vampire in the vicinity dutifully ignored. When he slid the fabric away, it was spotted with red. The faint stench of rot hung in the air.
To everyone present, my brother—and his wife—died instantly in that explosion, their bodies burned beyond recognition. Giovanni’s illusion was complete.
Only Nico, Severin, and I knew the truth.
Even though this entire travesty was for show, my heart lurched when eight soldiers lifted Dante’s casket—with some charred, unknown corpse inside—from the boat and began the somber trek to the family plot, up the stone steps, past the main house, through the small garden my mother had once loved.
Black velvet draped every railing, every balustrade, and white lilies and night-blooming jasmine banked the steps in thick, suffocating tiers. My aunt’s doing, a gaudy display of ostentatiousness my brother would have despised.
My father loved everything about tonight.
Being the center of attention. The family’s private island—our sanctuary—reshaped into a stage. The procession route cleared, gravel raked into neat, obedient lines.
Vampires from every Pentarch family lined the path, our soldiers stacked behind them in formal black and silver uniforms, swords held vertical against their chests, faces appropriately blank.
Emilia DiSangue was the only one wearing dark red, not black, a crimson ruby sitting in the hollow of her throat like a splash of fresh blood, flanked by her dour sons in their usual onyx frocks.
Her gaze found mine in the crowd, and her lips pursed.
A warning? In sympathy? With Emilia, one never knew.
Behind her stood Rocco Demente, broad-shouldered in a high-collared black coat with a silver chain crossing his barrel chest, eyes gleaming with calculation as he gave me a slow nod of greeting.
He’d blackmailed my brother into doing his dirty work, and now…
now he would be looking for a more malleable target to extort.
“Watch out for that one,” Marcello cautioned, as if he read my mind. “He still has an axe to grind with that arms dealer.”
“Could be an opportunity,” I mused, my tone unbothered. “With Dante gone, we could use the situation to bring Rocco more firmly under our control. Leverage for the future.” My father gave me a surprised glance, his withered lips curling up in approval.
Severin Draconi blended into the crowd, Nico at his side, expression placid, except for the twin flames burning in his eyes. He hated this display as much as me, but it was necessary that we played our parts, and tonight, we were close to our enemies.
Close enough to overhear every tainted whisper.
At last, my eyes fell on Giovanni DiRavello.
I clenched my hands, and despite my efforts, my heart rate picked up, my sire shooting me a warning look.
In his brown robe, he blessed both of us with a beatific smile, the epitome of a humble male here to show respect, when he was nothing but a vulture waiting to pick our bones clean.
The ceremony was brief.
Vincenzo DiSangue muttered a few forgettable words that would have made my brother laugh, then the onyx casket was lifted straight onto the pyre, the tinder beneath was lit, and almost five hundred vampires impassively watched my father’s sins disappear in a plume of smoke and ash.
Once the flames burned down to nothing, Giovanni was the first to glide up to my father, the others following, some long-lost second cousin offering me her hand to kiss as she started droning on about how beautiful the ceremony was.
I tuned her out, eavesdropping on my father and Giovanni.
“Don Marcello.” Giovanni’s smile was serpentine, his gaze fixed on the blood marking the corner of my father’s mouth. “My condolences on your terrible loss.”
“My condolences on yours, as well,” my father replied, with all the graciousness of a serpent.
“Such a terrible tragedy that explosion. Such losses for both our bloodlines.” Giovanni’s gaze flicked to me.
The moment his dark eyes landed on my face, I slammed my mental gates down, locked my thoughts up tight.
Gave my cousin a smile that had her talking even faster.
“I will order Severin to conduct a thorough investigation into the explosion and the resulting fire, but yes, a terrible loss for both of our bloodlines. Thankfully, we both have suitable heirs who can take over.” Giovanni leaned closer to Marcello, lowering his voice.
“So,” he remarked, “this ends our… unpleasantness.”
My father’s mouth barely moved. “It appears so.”
“Your son,” Giovanni added softly, “was becoming a problem. You can find a way to thank me later, I suppose.”
Thank me.
I froze, releasing the cousin’s hand as she moved on. My chest was too tight to take a proper breath, and my father’s dark gaze slid to me once more.
Assessing. Suspicious.
I kept my face blank as I nodded in invitation to Rocco Demente, the old male lifting his hand to me as he limped forward, leaning heavily on his cane.
Heading my way with singular purpose.
Marcello’s gaze drifted over to the line of attendees, over the macabre spectacle he’d crafted. “You overstepped, Giovanni,” he hissed. “I did not sanction that bomb. There were other ways to deal with Dante. And killing your own niece. I never realized you were a soulless monster.”
Giovanni gave a quiet laugh. “We have all made sacrifices to the cause. Now we are even. For the time being.”
The words were cold, almost gloating, not a hint of grief or regret. This fucking bastard had killed his own niece, drowned her, then had the gall to pretend he was the one who’d made a sacrifice?
“For the time being,” Marcello echoed hollowly, reaching for Emilia’s hand as she approached.
Giovanni hummed, then tilted his head, as if remembering something pleasantly inconvenient.
“Ah,” he spoke loudly enough for me to hear. “I expect to see you tomorrow evening—Emberline’s funeral is sure to put this one to shame. We’ll both bury our sins and put this matter to rest, once and for all.”
My throat was so tight, I nearly choked, but Giovanni had his eyes glued on my father, watching for his reaction, his smile faltering when Marcello’s cold expression didn’t change.
“I haven’t forgotten, and I do not need reminding.”
“Good. I’d hate for you to miss such a tragic event,” Gio sniped. “We should mourn our losses together, Don. United publicly. There is unity in grief, after all.”
Then he stepped back, melting into the crowd of mourners as Rocco appeared before me, clasping my hand a little too greedily.
“Gabriel, my boy, I am sorry for your brother. He was a bright light, snuffed out too soon.” He paused, a greedy gleam in his dark eyes. “Is there anywhere we might speak privately? I have a business proposition for you.”
I touched my father’s sleeve. “Don, Rocco and I are heading to the main house.” I beckoned two of our soldiers closer.
“I should only be a moment. I am sure Signore Demente would not pull me away on the eve of my brother’s funeral rite unless this matter was of utmost importance.
” I shot Rocco a gleaming smile. “Follow me. You look like you could use a glass of brandy.”
“That sounds good, my boy.” Rocco’s cane tapped against the stone. “You’ll want to hear what I have to say.”
I seriously doubted that, but this would get me out from under Giovanni’s probing eyes and away from my sire, who I wanted to kill. All I could think about was wrapping my hands around his throat and twisting. All I wanted was to hear him beg for his life.
But Marcello was sick. Sicker than even I knew.
And Giovanni… that pious bastard was behind Dante’s disappearance. Nico watched me from across the open patio, mourners lining up to bow to my father, to kiss his ring. My friend’s fingers flashed. What did you find out?
I know who took Dante. I replied. Giovanni.
One curt nod and Nico was gone, flying across the water to tighten the vise around Giovanni’s spy network and find my fucking brother before they killed him for real. It took me fifty years to free him last time; I wouldn’t fail him again.
My father and Giovanni DiRavello thought they’d won.
They thought they’d removed the volatile pieces from the board and brought the game back under their control. They believed they were safe from retribution. That there was no one left to punish them for their sins.
They were wrong.
Today, they buried my brother.
Tomorrow, they would parade Emberline’s coffin past these same vampires and call her death a tragedy. They would trade the same, empty condolences and pretend their hands were clean. They would congratulate themselves that they’d gotten away with their crimes.
And I would watch them bury the female I craved with every part of my soul.
The female I had no right wanting but couldn’t stop myself from wanting, no matter how hard I tried.
My brother had made me swear to protect her. To keep her safe. To keep her close. I was a greedy bastard, and chances were, I’d burn in the Underworld for wanting what I could never have, but I was a sinner to the core.
Burning didn’t scare me one bit.
Thank you so much for reading Deceived!!