Page 67 of Sapphires and Snakes

I watch as the don of the family that betrayed me, that shattered my knee, that left me to die, breaks apart into a hundred emotions. Fear, rejection, denial, anger, disbelief. He cycles through them and more, hand landing on David’s elbow as if he can plead his case and stop what’s already happened.

And beside him, the devil that promised to save him in exchange for his soul rages. Alonso’s mouth is running so fast, I can’t understand a word he’s yelling. His face is red-purple as if each word costs more oxygen than he can inhale.

I only have ears for Riccardo.

“No,” he gasps. “This is impossible. There’s no way she owns enough property. I never sold to the same company thrice?—”

“Don’t be dense, Ricci.” I study my nail beds.

“Don’t call me Ricci,” he snaps.

“What was the deal, Alonso?” Jimmy presses, the anvil already dropped and jumping atop it. “You must’ve known why Riccardo was so willing to sell off his daughter.”

“Fuck you, Jimmy. Fuck both of you,” Alonso spits. “You two sullied this Council. You’ve sullied this city!”

“No need to get so emotional, Alonso.” I shake my head, frowning in distaste.

Alonso whirls on me. “This is all your fault!”

“I capitalized on an opportunity.” I cock my head, condescending. “Speaking of—don’t you two have a wedding to prepare for?”

The quiet that greets my words is heavier than the cathedral we stand inside. I’m surprised the stones don’t crack with the weight of it, that the stained glass windows don’t fracture. Riccardo’s eyes flick to Alonso then to me then to the closed doors.

“Unless”—my voice is layered with faux concern—“the Gallo family’s demotion is a dealbreaker?”

At that, Alonso Accardi, don of the West and sixty-plus-year-old man, turns from the group and storms down the aisle with his hands fisted at his sides.

“Remember, Alonso,” Jimmy calls, his face finally breaking into the maniacal grin he wore in our last meeting—a fox in the henhouse indeed. “Any attack on a fellow don is considered an act of war! That includes the Tamayo family now!”

And excludes the Gallos.

“What have you done?” Riccardo’s face is near translucent as he rushes out after Alonso.

I can’t answer him. The consequences of this will reach much further than the unseating of the Gallo family. Zarina could still be doomed. Riccardo could still be held accountable to his agreement with the Accardis. All I do know is I’ve achieved the goal I spent a decade pursuing.

And now, I cannot fail in the next.

ZARINA

Snow is falling, fat and white. The muddy ground is almost covered, flakes speckling the pavement but not yet sticking. If today was only Christmas, if we were partaking in our traditional celebration, if I didn’t have a vial of poison stuffed in my bra, it’d be beautiful. But today is my wedding day, and more likely than not, someone will end up dead.

I really don’t want it to be me.

My head aches, but the bubbling champagne in my hand will help with that. I turn from the library’s wall of windows, ignoring my winter wedding dress draped artfully for a photo. Grandfather’s portrait watches me drift toward the desk where I’ve set up my makeup, still undone, to the sideboard for a refill, to the fire to warm my hands and toes.

I ignore his uncanny gaze somehow piercing through the painting from the grave and stare at the fire. The deadline for option three is today, now. But I don’t know if she was successful. I don’t know if the Council agreed or if Alonso tried to kill her first. The only thing I do know is that the wedding is still on and I will do whatever I must to avoid a life as Marcus’s wife.

I down my second glass of champagne and set it on the mantel. Pat appears at my shoulder, like I summoned them with the mere thought of what I wanted. They hand over my favorite knife encased in its thigh sheath. I take it, my fingers tracing the filigreed handle. Bronze creates the shape of a noose, a teardrop ruby set into the knot. The same shape as the necklace at my throat, a play on the Gallo name.

Today is an auspicious day for the Gallos. No matter what happens, whether we’re removed from the Council or I marry Marcus or I die, a noose of my parents’ making is tightening around all our necks and the only choice we have left is whether to live up to the family words or not:Death before dishonor.

I snort as I hold the sheath to my thigh and clip the straps into place, yanking them tight. My robe swishes over to cover the knife when I straighten. I pat the handle through the fleece and turn to Pat. “I guess it’s time to get dressed?—”

The door’s wrenched open, and Father crashes into the library.

I grasp my chest, my heart jumping, as he stumbles forward. “Father, what are you doing?”

“What did you do?” he whispers. His hair is falling from its usual coif, snowflakes still melting in the strands. I don’t know where he’s come from, what just happened, but I have a very good idea.