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Chapter Sixty-Eight

CARMINE

As a raven, I skim Central Park to the end of the trees, then catch the air currents to the water, where I fly south, to the rear side of a building, where I am called to turn into a man.

Ario and Viaro fall into place behind me on the roof of a rear extension, and I straighten my jacket and peer into the second-floor window.

Orlando Lugano is there already. He swings open the casement. “Look what the kitty-cats dragged in.”

“We come in peace.” My empty palms are white in the streetlights.

“So you say.”

“You going to invite us in, or are we fucking first?”

“For Pete’s sake, you guys are something else.” He steps out of the way. “You’re invited in, but no fucking.” He points at all three of us.

Once you let us in, you don’t get to define the terms of any subsequent activity. The vampire is in control. Luckily for him, I’m not here to fuck.

Ario and Viaro only need the invitation. So they fold back into birds and are gone. I am the only one to enter.

The small room used to be a bedroom in a tenement apartment, and it’s now the home base for the architect overseeing the renovation of the basement and the sub-basements.

A photo wall of the building sits opposite gray metal filing cabinets with flat drawers.

The drafting table is old but impeccably clean.

“You want a Coke or something?”

“Sure.” I get a closer look at the photos. The portrait room, lined with oil paintings of the leaders of the Colonia family. The Dome, where their rituals were done and which is newly taken up by a bar and dance floor. “I love what you’ve done with the place.”

“How’s my kin doing up in that prison?” He hands me a cold, red can.

“As noncompliant as ever.” I go to pull the ring on top, but it’s different. I pause to figure it out. Orlando takes it away.

“You better be treating her right. If Tommy hears she’s getting manhandled…” He cracks the top and hands it back. In his eyes, there’s something more than worry over his alpha’s reaction. Something personal.

“You try keeping her safe without manhandling. It’s impossible.”

His eyes darken further.

“Stop.” I put up a hand. Luna’s blood keeps it from tremoring. “She’s unmolested and you know it.”

“Not one of you filth bit her?”

“She bit one of us. She nearly got all of us killed. Brought a few dozen armed humans to my front door.”

Serafina Orolio is the reason a half dozen Scangas came to my gates with flamethrowers. Ferrante is in stasis because of her and Domenico’s secret messages and folded magazine corners.

“She’s a Lugano.” He seems proud. She’s a viper and this idiot thinks she’s the second coming.

“You’re related. I’ve only seen a werewolf scent a mate once before, but I never forgot it. Is that uncomfortable for you? Or is that normal among your people?”

“I’m adopted. Not that it’s your business.”

“Well, you can have her. Good luck.” I sip my Coke. It tastes different than I remember. Same as everything. “My wife’s become invested in Serafina Orolio.”

“Sorenda Lugano.”

“As far as Luna is concerned, Serafina is her kin. Her sister. I’m happy to let her go, but my wife won’t let anything happen to her.”

“Your wife tries to get in the way… you better control her, for her own good.”

I lean against the desk. “For your own good, do not antagonize Luna. She’s a Strega, and getting more powerful by the day. I cannot sense her limits. So, for her —to keep her calm and happy—you must treat Serafina with the utmost care.”

“There’s something wrong with you.” He scoffs, drinks his soda, then slaps the can on the filing cabinet and pulls out his phone.

“Only you would come here to say this shit. Only a soulless, heartless ghoul would sit there and tell me he noticed I scented my mate—my mate —and remind me to treat her well. That says more about you than it does about me.”

“Your proximity to the Bourbons doesn’t inspire trust.”

He takes a moment to examine my expression. “You give a shit. This isn’t about keeping your wife happy. You actually give a shit about Serafina.”

“Don’t give me too much credit.”

He scoffs again and shakes his head as if he doesn’t take me seriously. He should. He really should.

“What is it with you and the Montenegros?” He pokes and rubs his phone as if he’s trying to get it off.

“We go way back.”

He looks up from his phone. “Your airdrop isn’t coming up.”

“My what?”

He holds out his hand. “Give me your phone.” I don’t see any harm, so I give it over.

“Generally speaking, I don’t like you…” He swipes through my screen and I drink my soda. I have no idea what he’s doing. “But that guy… he gives me the willies.”

“You cash the checks though.”

“Checks.” He chuckles and hands me my phone back. “Now you have the building plans. I’ve marked a few safe entry points. If you get busted, I wasn’t the one who invited you in.”

All I see on my screen is the usual grid of brightly colored boxes. “Where are they? The building plans?”

“They’re on your phone, Mr. Van Winkle,” he says as his phone beeps. He looks at it.

Rather than ask him where he put them, or even how, I open the window to leave. Viaro can explain it. Maybe Luna will show me where blueprints can fit in a tiny box.

“It’s almost been a pleasure speaking with you, wolf.”

“Wait.” He pushes off the wall slowly, watching his screen. He holds it up for me. “This is outside that old dude’s house. Uptown.”

There’s a photo of Charles and Giulia on Central Park North. Talking about what, I don’t know, and I don’t care.

“When?”

“Right now.”

Fuck.

Without another word, I fold into a raven and fly away.