Page 18 of Violence and Vice

I stumble back, my mind spinning. Giovanni was powerful. Respected. An important man.A Baron.

And I justendedhim.

My body still thrums with the high of the fight, the overwhelming power humming beneath my skin. But inside, something tightens. A pit forms in my stomach, something between horror and inevitability.

I’d never killed anyone as a human. But in just over twenty-four hours of being a vampire, I’ve ended a life.

Shit.

Shit.

Something stings the backs of my eyes.

Sirens sound in the distance, instantly ripping my eyes to scan the surrounding area. It’s doubtful they’re for me; there’s no one around to witness what I’ve just done, and there are sirens going off all the time in the city.

Still, I need to move.

But I can’t justleavehim.

Panic claws at the edges of my mind, but I force it down. If the police find Giovanni, if they identify him, this becomes an investigation. The last thing we need is for any of us Barons to get tied to this death in any way.

My gaze snaps to the Hudson River, dark and endless beyond the South Street Seaport. No. That’s too final. His wife—his widow—his other children, they’re all going to want to bury him.

I inhale sharply, my senses hyper-attuned to everything around me—the sharp bite of blood, the weight of Giovanni’s lifeless body, the city pressing in.

I have to movefast.

I crouch and lift him effortlessly, my new strength making it easy despite the literal dead weight. The sight of his slack facesends a fresh wave of nausea through me, but I push it down. I carry him into the shadows, sticking to the darkest alleys, weaving through back streets until I reach a small, secluded parking garage. No cameras. No foot traffic. I set his body down carefully behind a row of construction equipment that is so filthy and dusty, I would guess it’s been abandoned.

I kneel beside him, patting down his pockets with steady hands until I find his phone. My stomach twists as I hold the device up to his face, unlocking it with his own lifeless features.

The screen opens. It’s easy enough to navigate to his contacts. There, at the top of his favorites list, is Francesca’s name.

I tap her contact and type.

Your husband is at this location.

I send a pin along with the message.

I feel like I should say more. Give an apology, explain. But inciting Francesca to retaliation isn’t a good idea. Giving her any kind of indication as to who did this and why doesn’t do anyone any true good.

The moment it sends, reading delivered, I drop the phone onto his chest. I straighten, pulling my own phone out from my pocket. I stride off into the shadows as I start a group text to Sysco and Harry.

I swear I tried to stop it.

Gio came after me again. We fought, and he wouldn’t fucking listen to me. I was defending myself.

My hands feel like they should be shaking as I type out the multiple messages, but my new Made form holds me steady.

Gio is dead.

I took care of the body.

Fuck. I can’t believe I just typed out those words.

Ten seconds later, Sysco simply replies with expletives, following it with another text asking if I’m okay.

Harry’s response is simple.