Page 93 of A Murder of Crows

My men.

I glance around as I leave, but there’s no sign of Domenico. I ordered him to check on the Crows, to check in on the three injured in last night’s smoke attack, and, specifically, to make sure every woman knows to stay inside and keep her doors locked until the dons leave this evening.

I will take no chances with my people when Matteo is around.

The last twenty-four hours are weighing heavily on me, the pain in my ribs radiating out across my body. I need more painkillers, and a chance to clear my head.

So I walk, slowly, back to my apartment. I just need a few minutes without eyes on me.

Chapter forty-seven Dante

Caterina actively avoids my eye as she slips from the room, her hand on her rib.

My father claps me on the back. “Didn’t feel the need to shower for the occasion, then?”

I force a smile. “Apologies again. I lost track of time. Had a little too much excitement at the social last night.”

He laughs, thank God, not looking too closely at the tension in my face. “I’m glad to see you relaxing a little more, son.”

Glad to think I might have been somewhere other than focused on Caterina, he means.

Making an excuse, I head towards the door.

I have to see her. Just for a minute. Just to hear her voice, to check over the injuries to her face.

I thought she wasdead.

Searched for hours, through the night and into the morning, ripping apart that forest. Roaring her name until I was hoarse, just in case she was lying injured somewhere. Uncaring that myphone had died until I looked up and realized the lateness of the day.

Bracing myself, as I slipped into the main hall, to see an empty space where she would normally be standing.

But there she was. Standing there, staring at me as ifIwas the lost one, returning home.

My attention is so divided that I nearly trip over the small pile of items on the other side of the Courtyard. Cursing, I catch myself, reaching down to pick up the trash that someone has left here.

Except that it’s not trash.

My hands clench on Caterina’s daggers, left in a neat little pile. The four that she wears. One in each shoe, one strapped to each arm. When I look down, I see her gun beside the spot where they lay.

Cold invades my body. It’s not possible.

Not again.

I run to her apartment, just in case. Praying that I’m wrong.

Nobody answers. When I step back, craning to look through the windows, there’s no movement in sight.

But I already knew that would be the case. Because Caterina would never,ever,leave her daggers like that.

I slip back into the reception, scanning the room until I meet Luc’s eyes. I tip my head, but I keep looking, keep scanning. And then I notice.

He strolls up, leaning against the wall next to me, a brandy in his hand. “What?”

“Cat. She’s gone,” I breathe.

And so is Giovanni Fusco.

THE END