Page 134

Then what's his angle? What is he trying to achieve by going after Sisi?

He's always been a fickle bastard, but even he wouldn't have stooped so low as to embroil an innocent in his games.

"I guess now we can talk openly?" he drawls, plopping himself in the chair again, a languid smile on his face.

It's his usual feigned affability that enrages me further because I know he's not taking this seriously.

"I promised Sisi I wouldn't bait you, but wow is it hard," he chuckles to himself, rubbing his shoulder wound and gazing at his blood stained fingers with an inscrutable expression. But just as it appears, it's gone, and I'm surprised to see he's not already succumbing to one of his episodes.

"Cut to the chase, Vlad. What do you want to leave Sisi alone?" I ask him outright.

He raises his gaze to meet mine, his eyes darkening.

"That's not on the table, Marcello. Not now, not ever. You may not believe me, but I do love your sister." He shrugs casually, "She's the only thing that's keeping me sane. To take her away from me," he pauses, tilting his head to regard me thoughtfully, "would mean inviting war."

"War," I snort.

"And you know how I like my wars." His mouth stretches in a wide smile, teeth glinting in the low lighting of the room, "With no one left standing."

"See, that's exactly the issue, Vlad. You speak so casually of killing everyone, yet you want me to believe you hold my sister in some sort of superior regard." I roll my eyes at him.

"Sisi isn't everyone, Marcello. And that's your first mistake in assuming she's just like everyone else. She's the only reason I haven't killed you for wiping the smile off her face," he says, his voice low, his tone serious.

Standing up, he comes to my side, taking the decanter and pouring himself a glass of whiskey. Instead of drinking it, though, he raises it to his shoulder, dumping the contents all over his open wound.

My eyes are on his face that showsnoreaction. There's not even the slightest suggestion that he's in pain.

His smile widens as he sees my baffled expression, pouring yet another glass and bringing it to his lips, downing the liquid in one go.

"Why don't we just put this behind us," he starts, "Sisi would be sad if you suddenly stopped being in her life, and that's the last thing I would ever want. So for her good," his lips twitch, "and everyone else's, we should make our peace."

"Are you threatening me, Vlad?" I raise an eyebrow at him.

"Me?" He shakes his head, a chuckle escaping him. "You forget one thing, 'Cello. I don't threaten. I deliver." He places the glass back on the table, a sudden sound that emphasizes the silent tension between us even more.

"So you just want me to forget about everything and welcome you to the family with open arms," I say sarcastically and his face lightens up.

"Exactly," he quickly intones.

"I don't know what world you live in, Vlad, but that'snevergoing to happen." I give a dry laugh. "You think to make a whore of my sister and I'll receive you with open arms?"

"Careful Marcello," he hums, his voice strained, his fists clenched, "careful with how you address her," he takes a step forward, his hands suddenly on my shirt.

I see the way his arms are trembling as if he's barely containing himself. He straightens the collar of my shirt, his eyes on my neck.

"Anyone else and they would be at the bottom of a ditch," he mutters under his breath before his lips curl up in a smile again. "But I can't do that now, can I?" he continues, "Not when we're family." He purses his lips, patting my chest before moving back.

Without any warning, he turns around, smashing one of my shelves to pieces. It only takes one contact with his fist for the wood to give way, split into two.

I watch him closely, this display wholly unlike the Vlad I know. Tilting my head to the side, I study the way he breathes harshly, closing his eyes and trying to regain control over himself.

"No one," he grits his teeth, his back to me, "no one insults Sisi." The words are stilted and barely coherent. "Least of all calling her awhore," he spits the word out as if it's the most vile thing.

His knuckles are bruised, the skin peeling off as he continues to assault my shelves until there's nothing left standing.

Still, I don't intervene, waiting for his anger to wear off.

But even as I watch from a distance, I can't help but feel that thereissomething different about Vlad. In the past, he'd have never allowed himself to have an outburst like this unless it was one of his episodes. His mask of civility firmly in place, he likes to present himself as wholly inoffensive to the world.