Page 9 of A Madness of Crows

My uncle rules the Asante line with fear and pain and little else.

When he speaks, the quiet words carry throughout the silent room.

“Benvenuto, i miei amici. We gather this evening to celebrate a new dawn for the Cosa Nostra, and for the Asante line.”

Cheers ring out. His men holler and stamp their feet, greed on their faces.

Salvatore holds up a hand, surveying the crowd. “But that is notallwe celebrate.”

Trepidation knits my brows together before I force them to straighten, push my features back into that expressionless mask.

I wait. All of us, wait.

“An alliance,” Salvatore finally continues. His tone is cool. Amused. “Between two of the oldest houses. The Asante and Corvo families.”

The crowd murmurs. Some eyes flick to me, wondering.

My own muscles have locked up. I cannot move, cannot breathe, my eyes locked on my uncle. On the anticipation lingering on his face.

No.

She got away. Sheleft.

Salvatore turns to offer me a mocking grin before he speaks again. He waves a hand. “Please welcome mywife. Caterina Asante.”

My world narrows to a thin dot of light as she appears.

Fuck.

Fuck.

Caterina Corvo stares around her, her face impassive despite the leers being thrown her way. The crowd splits into two,creating a path leading her straight towards us. She moves slowly, warily. Poised and ready as if she’ll launch herself into battle, despite her wrists clamped behind her back.

I glance down at her outfit. Take in the expanse of golden skin on show, lithe limbs scantily clad in a mockery of virgin white.

My jaw tightens before I flick my gaze back up.

And our eyes lock. Hers widen, those hazel depths flaring as if surprised, before they narrow.

Caterina looks at me as if she’s never seen me before. In a way I haveneverseen her look at me. At anyone – not even Gio, when he placedil bacio della morteon her head. Hatred, true hatred, shines on her face, mixed with disdain as she intentionally turns from me back to my uncle.

The truth in her stare hits like the knives she loves so much.

Despite her bare feet, her clothing, she holds herself like a queen. Like an heir.

It does not go unnoticed.

Salvatore isn’t smiling by the time she reaches us. She surveys us both before she turns as if in dismissal, glancing across the crowd.

More than one person shifts beneath that stare.

If we were anywhere else, I might be amused. But here—

This is not the place.

I will the thought, the silent plea to get through to her, knowing it’s impossible. She’s not paying me any attention as she sweeps the room. Silent. Assessing.

Not like a victim at all.