Page 76 of A Murder of Crows

And so, I break him.

Casually, I fling the bundle in my hand to the floor, watching as it scatters.

The thick, auburn strands dance on the wind, catching on Giovanni’s shoes. Viscous, sticky dark blood sticks to the leather. Luc and Dante drop their grip and he slowly reaches down, gathering the reddish strands up in his hands. Cupping them gently. Rubbing his sister’s blood between his fingers.

I don’t want to look.

Don’t want to look at him as he sinks to his knees.

Don’t want to look at Dante, at the comprehension there, the dawning horror.

At Luciano’s face, as he realizes what my line was.

Hands grip my face, digging in.

“Tell me you didn’t,” Dante breathes, and my throat burns at the raw desperation in his voice. “You wouldn’t do that, Cat. Youwouldn’t. Tell me it’s not true.”

My eyes meet Luc’s over his shoulder, and I have to close them. “I did what I had to. It’s done.”

And Dante freezes. His hands slowly, so slowly, lower from my face. His green eyes stare into mine as if searching for the truth.

As if he sees the lies.

When he takes a step away from me, ithurts.

But I knew what the cost would be. So I keep my chin up, even as he backs away, shaking his head. Even as my heart threatens to rip directly from my chest, as he moves to Gio. Kneeling beside him, whispering something to him that I cannot hear. His hand on his shoulder as he tries to lift him, to shield him from the eyes gathering around us.

Luc is still watching me, his face grave. “Was the cost worth the consequences?”

I meet his gaze.

“I don’t know yet.”

Chapter thirty-nine Caterina

Ireject the call from Domenico.

The first.

The fifth.

At some point, I lose count. That’s when I turn my phone off.

Vincent knocks on the door, his phone in his hand.

“Tell him I’m busy.” My voice is short.

There is a line of Crows outside, spread across the clearing, dotted between the trees. Ready and waiting.

I check the time. The social will be starting soon, although I’m not expecting to attend. But as the minutes pass, it becomes clear that nobody is coming.

Slowly, I strip out of my layers. I carefully redo my makeup with a steady hand, let my hair down before sweeping it up into an intricate knot. Ready for another show.

At this point, I don’t know how many I have left in me.

But at least I look the part. My dress plunges to the floor, the deep v-shaped neckline dipping almost to my stomach, held inplace by a corset design with silk black laces curving up my back. From my hips, it sweeps out to the floor, the train a good foot long.

Layer upon layer of iridescent color. Shimmering black feathers, intermixed with deep, deep purple and the darkest indigo to create a sleek waterfall that falls in graceful waves.