Page 33 of A Madness of Crows

Every man here cheers, whistles ringing out as the man in question turns, inclining his head to me with a smirk.

Matteo takes a swig from a bottle of Joseph Corvo’s finest vintage wine, his eyes on me. When he jerks his head in a summons, I dance for a few seconds longer before jumping down, grabbing my own bottle on the way.

My veins are abuzz with something stronger than alcohol as I stroll towards him, and a laugh escapes me as he hooks an arm around my neck, dragging me close. “Enjoying the party,amico?”

The smile curls around my lips, tugging them upwards. “I dolovea party, Corvo.”

He chuckles. “Don’t I know it.”

My eyes sweep over the man standing silent and still at his shoulder. Domenico stares out at the crowd, the dark circles beneath his eyes nearly overtaking his face. Bruising lingers on his throat, shades of purple and green peeping out from the collar of his shirt.

Matteo’s voice lowers. “He’s makingexcellentprogress.”

“I’m delighted to hear it.” Dom doesn’t respond to our words. Doesn’t look my way at all, although his jaw tightens.

Anger. Revulsion, maybe. Both are equally possible.

Matteo is still talking, and I pull my gaze from Dom to listen. “I’m glad you saw the light, Morelli. It would have been a damn shame if you’d bled out that night.”

I force my laugh out. “And let you miss out on the delight of my company? I don’t think so.”

He smirks again, the caps on his teeth glinting. “Maybe I misjudged you.”

I grin. “Everyone always does.”

Day 42 – Caterina

Istare at my reflection in the mirror, wiping away the steam.

I don’t recognise the woman that stares back at me. A gaunt, hollow face and deep purple circles stare back. The Asante brand taunts me, plastered across my skin, declaring Salvatore’s ownership. Various bruises – from Cecile, from Salvatore, litter my skin in shades of purple and green and yellow.

Six weeks.

I’ve been here for six weeks, and I look like a fucking ghost. I no longer look out of place beside the women who live in cages below my feet, the women that I spend my days next to.

Now I’m one of them.

My hand trembles when I reach up to gently press against the brand.

Still sore. But healing. Soon, the skin will turn white, his mark permanently pressed into my body.

I will never be rid of it.

I lean closer, searching for any hint of myself beneath that haggard face. Any hint thattheymight recognise.

Please. I say the words silently, a prayer.Please let them be there.

Let Luc be there.

When Cecile steps into the bathroom, she wrinkles her nose at my reflection, her disgust clear to see. She smooths a hand down her sleek dress. “You’re expected downstairs in an hour.”

I follow her silently, sitting at the dressing table. The threat from my training has spread to all areas of the house.

Behave, or they pay the price.

Behave, or your daughter pays the price.

Behave or everyone you love suffers for it.