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I glare at him, and he doesn’t even look the slightest bit afraid. He was Vincenzo’s right-hand man for almost two centuries, so I guess I’m not going to faze him.

“I don’t fucking know. I don’t fucking care. Kill her, set her free, make her the queen of the world. Whatever. I have bigger things to worry about than Vincenzo’s ex.”

“You do,” Aidan replies, straightening his tie. He wears a fucking suit and tie to work every day, which is weird. “Like the meeting of the Dons. Everybody wants it to be at their court, and nobody is willing to budge. Every neutral place that’s been suggested so far has been rejected. They’re testing us, playing games. We need to make a statement.”

I groan and bury my face in my hands. Fuck my life. I just want to be at home with Rosa, playing happy families. It doesn’t help that I’m so goddamn tired. I dreamt in my sleep last night, and I never dream. Even worse, it was a dream that involved human me again—more memories, or maybe just my mind trying to cope, process, whatever. There was a woman this time. Older, kind, with a sweet smile. She called me her little prince and gave me apples. She might have been my mother, which makes no fucking sense at all, because my biological mother was a maid who sold me to the Firenzes while I was still in the womb and handed me over at birth. At least that’s what I was always told, but I’m beginning to realize that I maybe need to fact check, to question my sources. When your entire history is told to you by the evil fuckers who transformed you, raised you in their pit of moral filth, and used you throughout your entire life … maybe they told a fib or two. My whole life could be fake news.

Aidan doesn’t need to know any of this. Nobody needs to know any of this. I haven’t even had time to talk to Rosa about it. I left her sleeping when I set off for the court, making my way through the pulsating nighttime streets of New York, the sights and smells assaulting my senses as I waded through the supernatural soup that sloshes around our compound.

“Who’s the main problem?”

“They’re all a problem, but the Romas are the worst. They’re still stinging from the fact that Vincenzo and the Capelli elder had an actual army on their turf and they knew nothing about it. It made them look weak, so now they’re looking for a way back from that. If I was to pick one to worry about, I’d say them.”

The Romas. We sent Don Luigi, the boss of the family, a gift—Vincenzo’s head on ice—but I guess it didn’t work. Should have sent a fruit basket as well. I nod, accepting what Aidan has said. It’s not just that what went down made him look weak; it’s also that he doesn’t trust me. I was Vincenzo’s man for too long, and he despised Vincenzo. If he had the chance, he’d cut me off at the knees, take Fireneze for himself. I need a way to show him that I am not to be fucked with.

“Any of the hostages Romas?”

He nods. “Several. One was in bad shape last time I saw him, but three more should be here somewhere.”

“What were their crimes?”

He looks down at the pages spread open in front of him. Vincenzo’s idea of record keeping was making scratches in ink with a real-life goddamn quill. “Two of them kidnapped a hostess from one of our clubs. Raped her, murdered her. Wouldn’t necessarily be a huge deal, but she was one of Carlos’s favorites.”

Well, she had a shit life from start to finish. “The other?”

“The adopted kid of one of his capos. Bigger fish. He was trying to muscle in on one of our hotel deals, undercutting us. Vincenzo thought he was also possibly a spy. You know how he got.”

Yeah. Paranoid as fuck. But that doesn’t mean he was wrong.

“Okay. This is what we do. First, we find the hostages,” I tell him. “And we kill them. Send their heads home the way we sent Vincenzo’s. Let the Romas know we mean business, that we’re not going to put up with any shit.”

I’ve just ordered the deaths of three men I’ve never met. Do I feel bad about it? No, not even a little. I’m sure they were assholes, especially the rapists. But being with Rosa has made me stop and pause and examine these choices I make lately. Would she hate me for doing it? No. Right decision.

Aidan thinks it over. “Could work. It’s strong. It could result in retaliation or all-out war, but it could also show them you’re here to stay.”

“Fuck. I hope not. But yeah. Vincenzo has left this family in a mess, and we can’t count on them to hold back. We have to strike first and hard. Make a gesture that says back the fuck off. They won’t go to war. None of them really want that; it’s just macho bullshit posturing. Time to smash the patriarchy.”

He snorts out a laugh. “That sounds like something a Seer might say.”

“Yeah, well. They’re not wrong either. Plus, they’re something we have that the other families don’t.”

There are vampire families and clans all over the world, including strongholds in Aidan’s native Ireland, the Scandinavian countries, and Russia. But the biggest and strongest are the four Coscas—the ones that emerged from the Old World, from pre-Bargain Italy. From Florence, Rome, Milan, and Venice. The Milanos are the only ones still based there, the strongest group in Europe. We’re in New York, the Romas are in Mexico and most of South America, and the Venezia have held their court in California for over a century now. The power of these four families is vast, a spiderweb of control that goes far beyond their bases. It spans continents, a network tied together in a mutually beneficial agreement. Sure, there are spats—territorial wrangling, occasional dramas, flare-ups of rivalries. But on the whole, we coexist, if not cooperate. It’s been that way for hundreds of years, all of us equal, and I’ll be fucked if that changes while I’m in charge. I will keep the Firenze Cosca strong, and I will repair the damage that Vincenzo has done to its foundations. Having our alliance with the Vecchissime Seers is a benefit. At least I think it is.

Word has spread quickly, and all the other Dons are now aware of what Vincenzo was planning. Working with the Grand Ball Sack, Rosa’s grandfather, to end the other Coscas, destroy the other Vecchissime families, and steal all the power for themselves. The other Dons also know that I ended it, and that it’s thanks to me and Rosa that the Vecchissime aren’t on the war path. If Vincenzo and Tomasso had succeeded in their scheme, the whole supernatural world would have been at each other’s throats.

Still, Aidan’s right. I can almost feel the heads of the other Coscas studying me, a twitch between my shoulder blades, a sense of being on probation. Of them watching and waiting, seeing what I do next. Wondering if the Firenzes will fail. Wondering when the best time to push me might be. Now I come to think of it, I wouldn’t be in the least surprised if half the assholes that have been challenging me at court were doing so at their bidding. In fact, as soon as the thought enters my head, it feels right.

“Aidan, put a perimeter in place. Say, two blocks wider than normal. More patrols, more security. Get some shifters on board, I need some ears on the streets.”

Nobody pays much attention to a stray cat or a rat, and it takes experience and skill to be able to scent them if you’re not on the lookout. Aidan nods but asks why.

“I need fewer challenges. I don’t have the time, and I don’t have the wardrobe.” I scoop a globule of flesh from my shirt to demonstrate. “I’m going to take at least one thing from the Vincenzo playbook. Find out who’s thinking of challenging me, especially people from out of town, and don’t even let them get that far. Disappear them, stick their heads on spikes, feed them to the pigs. I don’t give a fuck, but keep them away from me. And find the fucking hostages, all right?”

“Yes, boss,” he says, giving me a salute. “What about the humans?”

“What fucking humans?”

“The ones in the dungeons. There are a few.”