Chapter 54
NICO
The night air smelled of blood and fear and smoke.
The burning east wing of the villa was the perfect background for Giovanni, prim in his monk’s habit and sandals, that superior little smile pasted on his doughy face, as if the bastard was here by divine right and not because of unquenchable greed.
All around the edges of the clearing, black-suited guards stood in disciplined ranks, and behind them were the Drax, stretching out like a plague of black locusts, broken only by small groups of pale, skeletal Ashbound.
How fitting.
An army from hell backing the most corrupt vampire I’d ever known.
I let them believe I was unconscious, my body limp, eyes half-slitted, mouth open. As the guards dragged me forward, feet cutting furrows through the sand, I reached again and again for the Emissary, delving as deep as I dared… and found nothing but an empty hole.
Which meant there was a containment field or a nulling spell locking down my magic. I sensed that terrible absence in my bones when they dropped me to the ground in a tangle of bruised, aching limbs. Giovanni waited in the middle of the ruined garden, my father—inside Luca’s body—beside him.
They looked smug. Confident.
Safe because of the shackles.
The pins they’d shot into my body.
And why wouldn’t they? We were beaten. Chained. Powerless.
Little did they know that while iron shackles and pins worked on my shadow magic, the Emissary wasn’t bound by the physical contrivances of this world. Once I was outside this island and whatever containment field my father erected, nothing would keep me from transforming.
And I would shred their little victory apart with my bare hands.
But in the meantime, I had to keep everyone alive.
Giovanni had the look of a vampire who had won and still had a few cards up his sleeve. I’d spent years observing the sneaky bastard, learning to recognize every expression that crossed his weaselly face.
And while my Truthtelling senses were dulled, that look on his face wasn’t triumph.
This was satisfaction.
The look of a male whose victory wasn’t enough. No, he wouldn’t be happy until we were suffering. Screaming for mercy.
“Wake the fuck, up, you. It’s show time.
” The shackles bit into my wrists when the guards jerked me up to my knees, cuffed the back of my head, but I barely noticed.
They dropped me beside Emberline, thank the gods, close enough I could cover her with my body if Giovanni ordered the Drax to slaughter us.
I measured the distance between me and him… between me and Luca, trying to choose my targets. Making my one and only play count.
The sound of scuffling sounded behind me, followed by muted curses, then Valeria was forced to her knees at the end of the line, hands shackled behind her back, a bruise blooming on her cheek.
My pulse stumbled.
Blood soaked nearly every inch of her clothes.
Far too much blood for her to be upright and conscious.
One of the guards—a blunt-faced male with sandy hair—gripped the back of her neck, whispered something in her ear. With a small sob, she bowed her head, a curtain of blond hair hiding her face, her shoulders shaking. With a satisfied smile, the male stepped back.
Dante and I traded a look.
That fucker would be the first to die once we got free.
Luca—Blackwood—took his place beside Giovanni, black rot marring his face, his expression composed, dark gaze drifting over us with detached curiosity, as though he were taking inventory rather than watching his own sister on her knees in the dirt.
Somewhere, locked inside that head, Luca was screaming. Every so often, I watched his expression shift—from controlled calm to utter terror—only for a second before my father wrestled back control.
But Luca was in there.
And he was fighting to survive.
“Gabriel Dominico. I charge you with high treason against the Dynasty, conspiracy to overthrow the Don, sedition against the high council, and breaking your sacred oath of fealty, according to the laws of the D’Immortali Dynasty.”
Giovanni’s voice was measured.
Full of righteous anger.
“That’s a long list of grievances. Are you sure you got everything?
” Gabriel tipped his head. “What about escaping your shit prison cell or stealing the Basin right out from under your nose? I don’t want you to execute me and find you’ve missed something.
Kind of hard for a do-over when I’m missing my head. ”
Giovanni’s constipated expression turned thunderous.
“Gods,” I muttered. “The fucker has a stick so far up his ass, he can’t even take a joke.”
“You’ll be executed at dawn tomorrow.” Giovanni’s nostrils flared. “In front of the entire Dynasty. Brought to justice for your many crimes.”
Gabriel yawned, and honestly, I’d never respected him more.
“Best get us to the dungeons so I can get some sleep, then.” Gabriel’s teeth flashed before a guard stepped up and brought his fist down. The impact of knuckles on bone had me cringing, but Gabriel just shook off the blow, flashing a bloody, unrepentant grin.
Giovanni crossed the dusty ground, putting distance between himself and the guards. Out of my father’s hearing, he stopped before us, ash from the fire staining his bare toes and the bottom of his robe.
“As for you…” Giovanni looked down at me, pursing his lips as if he’d just stepped in a pile of dog shit.
“Your father has arranged your freedom. Yours and Dante Dominico’s.
You will be held at La Sala with the others, then, after tomorrow’s executions, you’ll be taken to Rome. Gods help both of you.”
“Somehow,”—I grinned up at him—“I don’t think the gods are listening to you, false monk.”
I could practically see smoke coming out of Giovanni’s ears, but I had news for him. My fucking father wasn’t taking me anywhere because the moment I was clear of this fucking island, I was going to swallow their entire world in darkness.
Then Dante could burn whatever was left to the fucking ground.
Giovanni slowly looked up and down the bloodied line of vampires, all of us on our knees and shackled.
“You have failed in your attempt to take the Dynasty through force.” Giovanni’s entire demeanor changed as he puffed out his chest. “I want it known that I have won, and you have lost. The true Basin is now in my possession. My mage is, as we speak, unraveling the magic at the heart of the stone, and soon enough, the Dynasty will answer to me.”
“How lucky for them,” I muttered, and Gabriel snorted.
Giovanni glanced nervously over his shoulder to where Luca waited, hands behind his back, adopting my father’s usual stance.
“Perhaps I will delay your departure until after the executions. You… all of you are owed a lesson in humility. My dear niece will be the first to die, and it will do you good to see her suffering. Your father has strict instructions to let his creatures take their time, and I expect her demise will be quite… distressing to watch.”
Dante burst up from the ground, lunging at Giovanni, teeth bared, movements wild.
But Gabriel beat him there, crushing the monk down to his back, pinning him down in the dirt with his body, Giovanni flailing, squealing like a stuck pig.
My eyes never left Luca’s face, and… there it was. A break in his cold expression, a flash of desperate fear, his eyes moving straight to his sister.
Luca was still in there.
And if he was still there, we could use him.
Guards rushed in from all sides and dragged the two brothers back into place as Giovanni climbed to his feet, touching his bleeding temple as though he couldn’t quite believe what had just happened.
“Emberline will die first,” he hissed. “And you three will watch.” Then he went utterly still, his expression shuttering at the sharp tap, tap, tap behind us.
“Make sure my daughter dies second, the traitorous little bitch.” Rocco Demente crossed in front of us, immaculately dressed in one of his tailored suits, his stump tucked casually into a pocket, his other hand braced on a new golden cane.
His dark gaze moved over the burning villa…
over Valeria… over the four of us kneeling before Giovanni.
There was no remorse in his expression, only vindictive hate.
He stopped beside Giovanni, coldly taking in the monk’s now-rumpled appearance, the healing gash on his forehead with a small, condescending smile.
“And I will be there, watching. Knowing that while you took my hand,”—his glare landed on Gabriel—“and you stole my seat at council…” He frowned at Valeria, her head still bowed, shoulders shaking. “Power belongs to the only one left standing. Look at me.”
Rocco nodded, and a guard stepped forward, grabbed Valeria’s hair, and yanked her head back, forcing her to face her father. His smile grew wider. More vicious.
“And my victory will be written in blood by the very traitors who thought they’d bested me.”