Page 29 of A Murder of Crows

“Giovanni.” I settle casually back in my seat, letting him stand there. “I heard you had returned.”

Eyes everywhere. So many eyes, watching us. I would have preferred privacy for our first meeting, and when his lip curls up in a cruel mockery of a smile, I realize he knows that.

“I have. We buried our sister yesterday. The parts of her you left us, anyway.”

The words are sharp, a direct attack. They hit me hard. “Gio, I—,”

“Don’t you dare,” he interrupts. The agony spreads across his face. “Don’t you fucking sit there and try to tell me you’resorry for our fucking loss.”

Fuck. Fuck,fuck.

Have to play the game.

“I was going to say,” I keep my words light, mild. “That I hope Rosa settles in well. A little young, but we’ll let it slide. All things… considered.”

It’s a fucking cheap shot. A shot, and a threat. But I have to shut him down. My father has already shown that he has no mercy where the Fuscos are concerned.

Don’t push this anymore, I beg silently.Don’t make this any worse, Gio.

There’s a hissed insult from the room that I’m certain comes directly from the youngest Fusco. Gio’s eyes flicker.

And then he smiles.

I smooth away the confused crease in my brow as he smirks. He takes a step forward until his body is pressed against the edge of the table.

“I have a gift for you, Caterina Corvo.” His voice lifts, carrying across the room in a clear challenge. “Stand up, so I can give it to you.”

I stay in my seat, and he crosses his arms. “Scared, Crow? If it helps, I swear not to harm you until this discussion is over.”

Slowly, I stand.

Dom hovers to the side of us, still and coiled in readiness if Giovanni puts even a foot wrong. My hand slides into my holster and Gio traces the movement, letting out a caustic laugh.

“You won’t be needing that.”

And then hekissesme.

Chapter fourteen Caterina

The barrel of my gun presses into his stomach, my finger steady on the trigger as he brushes his mouth against my lips. Once. Twice. The stubble on his face is edging towards a beard, and it scrapes against my skin. Gio’s mouth curves, and then he pulls back.

The kiss was softer than silk, but all I feel is cold. Colder than the feel of his lips against mine.

My eyes move to Domenico. He’s paled, one foot on the steps. But he can’t do anything, can’t change what’s just happened.

Nobody moves. Nobody dares to even breathe.

Nobody except for Giovanni. He straightens the lapel of his sleek black suit jacket as he turns away from me.

“No guns. One on one only,” he announces. The rules settle into my skin. And then he turns back to me, one more time. “I want you to feel every second, Caterina. Just like Nicoletta did.”

Il bacio della morte.

The kiss of death.

A bounty on my head, for anyone brave enough to try.

Giovanni Fusco has just declared open season on my life.