Chapter 8
EMBERLINE
Our family palazzo—Giovanni’s, now—had never looked more beautiful.
Jealous fury made me want to rip the stone facade off with my bare hands, especially the black swans I’d once been so proud of. No more. Now, anything that had to do with my family name made me sick; my uncle had corrupted everything he’d touched.
The main hall blazed with light, chandeliers dripping crystal, candles flaming in every sconce.
Rich fabrics hung from the walls, black and gold swags framing faded tapestries that showcased the DiRavello line’s illustrious history of opulent wealth—all carefully edited to highlight our power and nobility, of course.
Most of the guests were gathered around a massive portrait that dominated the far wall.
Me.
Or rather, the version of me Giovanni wanted the world to remember.
The artist had given me softer eyes, fuller lips, and a demure tilt of the head.
My hair spilled around my shoulders like a dark waterfall.
I wore a midnight-blue gown, cut to showcase my shoulders and throat, my hands folded in my lap.
A black ribbon was painted around my throat.
The mark of Death.
“Tragic, isn’t it?” The woman beside me sighed, fanning herself furiously, pointed nails glinting dangerously. “Gone so young. Giovanni is so deep in mourning, he hasn’t even taken meetings.”
More like he was using the free time to expand his nefarious influence, but sure, let her think the bastard had a heart of gold.
I smiled at her—black satin gown, dripping jewels, the corners of her mouth already stained red from blood-wine. I recognized her vaguely as a Demente, which meant she was sharper than she appeared.
“Very,” I said, arranging my features into appropriate melancholy. “Such a tragic loss.”
“She was wild, you know,” the woman confided, lowering her voice as if sharing a secret instead of repeating gossip I could have recited in my sleep.
“Such a temper. For a while, we thought Giovanni would never marry her off. Then, poof.” She fluttered her fingers.
“Dominico wedding, Dominico scandal, Dominico tragedy. At least we have plenty to gossip about this summer; otherwise, life would be so dreadfully dull.”
Okay, maybe not as sharp as I’d first thought. I made a sympathetic sound.
“Did you know her well?” she asked, studying me. “You look about the same age. Friends perhaps?” That note of curiosity turned hungrier.
“Only by reputation,” I sighed. “My sire did some business with the DiRavellos many years ago. We’re visiting from Florence.”
“Ah,” she said, interest waning as she turned back to the painting. “Florence. Such a provincial Dynasty.”
Forgotten, I hid a smirk behind my glass.
Out of the corner of my eye, Giovanni held court near the base of the grand staircase, monk’s habit exchanged for a formal black robe that reminded me of Emilia’s sons.
Among the rich and powerful, he was fully in his element—accepting condolences, murmuring humble thanks, shaking hands, offering his heavy gold signet ring to be kissed, as if he was already Don.
From the other side of the room, Marcello was propped up in a chair, lips pinched tight, white around the edges, as yet another penitent bent into a bow and pressed his lips to that glittering red stone on my uncle’s pinkie finger.
No, Marcello didn’t like this at all. His face was a sickly gray, his pallor more death than life. Veined, shaking hands grasped the table in front of him, not as a prop, but for actual support.
Gabriel said his father was ill, but this…
What the fuck was wrong with him?
Vampires faded away over centuries, not weeks.
They were like the statues lining the roof of Basilica di San Marco, eroding slightly every year, but still watching over the square after six hundred years.
To wither away so quickly wasn’t normal, and it was no wonder Gabriel looked so exhausted these days.
This was bad.
A cluster of young females circled nearby, whispering behind their hands, scrolling on their phones, eyes shooting across the room. I followed the direction of their gaze, my heart lurching inside my ribs when I spotted a familiar profile.
Luca.
My brother stood apart from the others, drink in hand, posture impeccable, watching the crowd with an inscrutable expression.
His black hair was tied back, longer than I’d seen it before, his face thinner, which only made him look even more dangerously handsome.
His dark suit was simple but perfectly cut.
Our crest was subtly embroidered on this lapel, and in his matching shirt and tie, he looked every inch vampire aristocracy.
My chest tightened, and I took a step toward my brother, not able to help myself.
“Emilia, may I have a private word?”
Directly behind me, Gabriel’s rich scent hit me, and I froze in place, every inch of my body tightening at that commanding, masculine tone. At the fact I was somewhere I should definitely not be.
Gods, what if he recognizes me?
Emilia was heading in my direction, Gabriel approached from behind, and I was about to be caught in the middle. So much for keeping my head down.
I turned, heart stuttering as Gabriel bore down on me, purpose in his stride, not a hint of recognition in his eyes.
Like my brother, he wore mourning black tonight, gold gleaming at his cuffs, his long hair loose around his face, his expression politely somber.
His gaze slid over my altered features, then stopped, blue eyes flaring wider.
My instinct was to flee; Emilia, however, moved first.
Before I could fully register the move, her fingers curled lightly around my wrist, drawing me into the space beside her, nails digging in deep in warning.
“May I present Isabella Rossi?” she said smoothly, her red nails flicking once through the air as though willing me into existence. “Up from Florence. A long-lost cousin or some such’s daughter.”
Her smile didn’t change as she spoke, her gaze sliding to me for the briefest moment, expectant.
I followed her lead, offering a vacant smile to Gabriel.
“Let me offer my sincerest condolences to Giovanni,” Emilia added lightly, already dismissing me, and speaking only to Gabriel. “Then, we can talk.”
With that, she disappeared, her crimson gown like a splash of blood amongst the somber crowd, but her eyes caught mine on the way past, full of malicious glee. Oh, she liked this, didn’t she? Leaving us together. A test of sorts, and one I would not fail.
“How is Florence these days?” Gabriel asked politely, his attention anywhere but on me, a pinch of frustration to his lips as he watched Emilia approach my uncle.
“As well as can be expected. The weather is hot, too many tourists, the usual complaints.” He didn’t even bother looking at me, and that pissed me off. I stepped closer until there was a scant foot between us.
“This is a beautiful palazzo. Have you been here often?” I asked, drinking in the fact that Gabriel had no idea who I was, and the anonymity gave me a certain, thrilling sense of… freedom.
“Too many times to count.” He finally looked at me, that frown growing deeper as I brazenly laid my hand on his chest. I’d barely even touched his shirt when his strong fingers wrapped around my wrist and lifted my hand free.
“You have the wrong idea, Isabella,” he warned softly with a hint of menace.
“I am very much spoken for, and no offense, but…” His eyes narrowed on my face, as if he was trying to figure out the answer to a puzzle.
“There is not a single female in this room who could hold a candle to her beauty. Tell Emilia whatever games she’s playing, I am off the board for seduction. Anything else is fair game.”
I blinked up at him, completely speechless as he released me and stepped away.
“You should be more careful than to participate in her games. Venice is not Florence, and these,”—he swept his hand across the glittering crowd—“these creatures do not play nice. They will eat you alive.”
“Who is she?” I asked, the question tumbling out before I had the sense to stop myself. And surely this little stabbing sensation in my stomach wasn’t… jealousy?
“No one you would know,” he answered, but his eyes went to the enormous painting, and everything about him softened, his mouth curving up into a small, secret smile.
My heart caught in my throat. This was like watching him actually fall in love in real time. Those cold, dark eyes turned to liquid black, his handsome face became more animated, and those full lips curved up until the dimple in his chin grew more pronounced.
My heart lurched, lungs collapsing as a reckless kind of hope crested through me in a wave that felt like realization and horror both at once.
Oh gods, was he…
“Dominico.” Luca’s voice snapped out from my left, cold and harsh and reminding me of my father, on the rare moments he’d lost his temper.
“Come to pay your respects to my sister?” Luca stopped in front of us, completely ignoring me, entirely focused on Gabriel.
“I know your family had something to do with her death, and I will use all my power to bury you fuckers. You have my word on that.”
“That’s quite a warning, pup,” Gabriel said lazily, the flow of guests adjusting around us, as if we were three rocks in a river. “Careful, I bite back.”
“My uncle has proof,” Luca said softly, throwing back his drink, that throng of female admirers circling like a committee of vultures. “And we will use our power to bury your entire family, though the Don looks as if he already has one foot in the grave.”
Shock rippled through me at his cruelty. Not because our kind wasn’t capable of such a thing, but because Luca wasn’t. One month. One month I’d been “gone,” and already, my uncle was twisting my brother into something he wasn’t.
One of them.
I gripped my glass of wine so tight, the glass squeaked. Both of them turned to me.
“This is Isabella, from Florence, a distant relation of Emilia’s,” Gabriel said, “who is finishing up with your uncle, so if you will both excuse me…” With that, Gabriel was gone, striding through the party, the crowd parting before him as he willed them to.
I offered my hand. “Hello. It’s nice to…”
“Don’t bother,” my brother snapped, then he was gone, too, the flock of females trailing in his wake completely unnoticed.