Page 94 of Vows of Blood

Grabbing my glass of wine, I saunter down the quiet hallway to Luca's room, my room now, I guess, and decide a hot bath will help me recover from spilling all my secrets to Rebecca today.

Well, not quite all.

Pushing open the door to the bathroom in Luca's suite, I laugh. It's ridiculous, all white marble and brushed copper fixtures, with a freestanding tub big enough for two positioned beneath a window overlooking the gardens.

Who lives like this? I fill it with water hot enough to sting and add some of the expensive bath oils that have never been opened, letting the scented steam fill my nose and calm my mind.

Stepping in carefully, I sink into the water, sighing in pleasure as it reaches my neck, feeling lighter than I have done in years.

I told her. For the first time in ten years, I told someone the truth about what happened, and the sky didn't tumble down around me.

Maybe I should tell Luca. What if I tell him later, and he's angry I kept it from him?

Immediately, I dismiss the idea, sinking lower in the bath as dread makes my toes curl. No way. Not until after the wedding. If I were to tell him the extent of his father's actions against me, who knows what he'd do. I won't let him ruin his chances of taking over by acting impulsively.

Once he's taken over, and I've fulfilled that part of our deal, then I'll help him fill in some of the blanks. After I've had some fun watching Alfonso squirm, waiting to see how much I've told his son about what he did to my family.

When Luca takes over, Alfonso won't be quite as untouchable.

The water cools, and I add more, not ready to leave the cocoon of warmth and silence. Eventually, when my fingers prune and my wine glass empties, I force myself to climb out, wrapping myself in a soft, fluffy towel from the heated rail that makes me sigh with pleasure.

The house is still quiet as I pad through the bedroom, enjoying the plush carpet beneath my bare feet.

I need to move my things from the guest room to make this official, so I don't have to keep traipsing back and forth in Luca's shirts to get my things.

It doesn't take long to gather my meager belongings and the outfits Carmella ordered for me. For now, I change into one of the short silk nightgowns, brush my teeth, slather moisturizer all over my freshly shaved legs, and climb into Luca's bed. The sheets smell like him, and I burrow into the pillows with a small smile.

He'll be home soon. He'll climb into bed beside me and tell me it’s all over.

I pull out my book, knowing I'll never be able to fall asleep, and settle back against the sumptuous pillows, ready to kill some time until he returns. Eventually, my eyelids grow heavy, and my eyes droop. Jerking awake as my book hits my leg, the creak of the door startles me, and I look up, expecting Luca.

Vito saunters in, tail high, looking extremely pleased with himself for gaining access to the forbidden territory of Luca's bedroom.

"You," I say, setting my book aside. "Luca's going to lose his mind if he finds you in here. Out."

Vito ignores me, as is his way, padding across the plush white carpet toward the bed, as I push back the covers and swing my feet to the floor, preparing to chase him back out.

Pushing to my feet, I stoop over to pick him up just as he darts away, and that's when I see them. Paw prints, bright red ones, trailing behind him like a grotesque bread crumb trail from the bedroom door.

Biting back the urge to cry out, I bend slowly and touch the wet prints, bringing my fingers to my nose, my heart beginning to pound as the unmistakable coppery tang hits my nose.

It's not paint. It's definitely blood.

And judging from how much crimson liquid coats his paws when I scoop him up and cling to him, there's a lot of it.

28

LUCA

The basement beneath Onyx serves multiple purposes. For the most part, it's storage for legitimate club business, and a quiet place for conversations, and other more hostile meetings that can't happen upstairs. Where there are witnesses. And carpets.

Nico has already started working on a man, on his knees, arms bound by chains when I arrive. There’s blood streaming from his nose and a split above his eyebrow. He’s young, maybe mid-twenties, with the kind of expensive designer clothes that screams new to the business and no common sense.

"Who sent you?" Nico asks, almost bored, before delivering another sharp jab to his ribs, holding out a sheet of paper that Corso apparently safety-pinned to his bare chest, the shining metal piercing through the man’s tanned flesh, before stringing him up and leaving him here while he went to get a drink. "Because it wasn't your idea. You’re clearly too fucking stupid to set up a hit like this."

The man grunts, chin hanging against his chest, finding just enough energy to spit out a rasping, "Fuck you," along with one of his broken teeth.

"Luca." Nico steps back, flexing his knuckles. "Recognize him?"