The decision settled into me like a vow, heavy and bitter and necessary.
I’d rather cut my own heart out than risk her again, so I lifted my glass.
“To distance. May it not break my heart as wholly as I fear it will,” I murmured under my breath, then drank like it was a sacrament.
The bar’s front door banged open, letting in a gust of even steamier air and a ripple of laughter that slowly gave way to something else. The loud bar quieted, the atmosphere in the smoky room shifting.
Old power slid through the air like oil in water, subtle and unmistakable. It didn’t matter how drunk the humans were—some instincts survived, despite the pleasant haze of alcohol.
Conversations faltered. Laughter dipped. A few heads at the bar turned. Even the barkeep stopped polishing glasses with his filthy rag.
My spine went cold as I recognized that familiar power and threw up a shield of shadow, enough to keep him from scenting me. Then I pulled my hood lower and watched.
Giovanni strolled in, dressed in that ridiculous monk’s habit, his round face marking him as a non-threat, despite the dangerous chill he dragged behind him. All I saw was cunning and cruelty, the air of a male who believed he was untouchable.
I tracked every minute detail, the pinch of frustration to his mouth, the bead of sweat racing down the side of his face, the way every movement was rushed, jerky.
So, he knew about the prison.That was fast.
The question was, how much did he know? It would take time to dig out the bodies, to search through that wreckage, even with magic at your command. And something about his bearing indicated fear, not annoyance.Who was he afraid of?
The older, wiser patrons kept their eyes on him, a few making the sign of the cross as he passed, whether because they believed him to be a man of the cloth…
Or they recognized him for the predator he was.
Without looking around, he headed past the bar and disappeared through a hanging drape leading to a private room. The bartender’s posture stiffened as Giovanni passed, then ever so slowly, his eyes drifted to my table, as if he’d made some connection between the two of us.
Well shit. Looks like I have some cleanup to do before I head back to the safehouse.
My mind raced.
Giovanni shouldn’t be here. Not in a common human bar filled with locals. Not without a reason. Then I thought back to his meeting with Severin and the lengths he’d gone to avoid detection.
I’d come here for the same purpose.To have some godsdamn privacy.
Vampires didn’t monitor human establishments; we just…didn’t need the aggravation.
Giovanni had lost an important strategic advantage today when we’d destroyed the Fossa. Hard to tell how much he knew, but my guess was, most of the guards were dead, and the prisoners wouldn’t talk, so he’d—at best—be sorting through about twenty conflicting stories, trying to discern the truth.
I toyed with my drink and kept my head down. A few minutes passed, and the bar’s atmosphere returned to its previous chaos. I ordered another whiskey. The humans went back to their bragging.
When the door opened again, Rocco Demente strolled in.
The old vampire moved with purpose, silver-tipped cane tapping the floor, his dark, bristling gaze sweeping the room in a sharp scan that made my skin prickle. Then he ducked beneath the hanging drape and disappeared.
Well, what do you know?
We have ourselves a little conspiracy.
I tossed back the rest of my drink and sauntered up to the bar, fished around in my pocket long enough for the barkeep to lean a little closer, then shoved three hundred euros toward him and a tendril of glamour.
“You had a very good night tonight. Lots of humans, but you never saw me. Understand?”
“Understood.” He licked his lips, his eyes glassy.
I stepped outside, where this shadowy city only pretended the streets weren’t haunted by ghosts.
Rocco’s involvement complicated things.
