Page 37 of A Madness of Crows

“Excellent handiwork, Rossi.”

I glance at it again with a flicker of memory.

I did that.

I barely even remember it.

Finally, Salvatore Asante pushes the door open. “My apologies, Matteo. We had a slight issue in the car. All resolved now.”

Stefano is abnormally pale as he glances back over his shoulder, his brows dropping down into a deep frown.

Gio and Dante tense. Even Luc sits up, his head tilting as if to glance past the two men into the hall beyond.

Matteo snorts. “Fine, fine. You’ll find that I’m much more informal than my predecessor.”

He glances around. “I don’t believe we’ll need our seconds for this meeting, gentlemen. I’d rather keep it… more personal, if you don’t mind.”

My breathing stops. Three sets of eyes flash to me as I look at the door.

Murmured agreement. Across from me, Salvatore looks irritated, muttering to Stefano, who nods. He slips from the room first, but I’m close behind him, the others following more slowly.

My heart thunders inside my chest, my body waking as if it’s been sleeping for the last six weeks.

Stefano is already knelt beside a slumped shape at the end of the hall, and I break into a run.

Caterina—

I fall to my knees next to him, ignoring his stare. “Cat-fucking hell—,”

My voice shakes as I take her in. She’s so fucking thin, her bones sharp and tight beneath her pallid skin. And the bruises, my rebellion painted across her golden skin—

Her chest.

I shove Stefano’s hands out of the way, my fingers trembling badly as I trace the edges of the crest embedded into her skin over her ruined crow tattoo. Run them over the edges of the wings I crafted so carefully for her. Now jagged and broken beneath a fuckingbrand.

They scarred her. Took the tattoo that sang of who she is and branded themselves into her skin instead.

The buzzing inside my head grows as I gently lift her half-open eyelids, my voice breaking. “Cat? It’s Dom. Talk to me, baby.”

She mumbles a few words of garbled Italian, and my brows knit as I smooth her hair away from her pale face. Even her clothes are ridiculous, pink and flouncy and everything sheisn’t.

As if they’re systematically stripping away every part of who she is.

Stefano reaches for her again, and my vision tinges crimson as my hand shoots out to grip his wrist. “Take your fucking hands off mycapo.”

He swears. “Rossi—,”

Ripping the gun from my holster, I press it to his head as the roaring in my head grows stronger. “Give me asinglefuckingreason not to.”

Movement behind me. Someone grabs at my arm, telling me not to be a fool, but Stefano only stares at me with black eyes as I shrug them off. “I can’t.”

I can’t breathe. “What has she taken?”

“Ket.” His skin is pale as he looks down, uncaring of the barrel to his temple. “He gave it to her in the car.”

Ketamine.

I mentally flick through what I know of it. I’ve seen plenty of it in action, seen the dazed looks, the aftermath. The fucking side effects.