Page 35

“Yeah. It’s time to go. Did you get Yvonne out of the dungeon?”

“Nah. Been, uh, busy. Pietro mentioned it, but he couldn’t get down the stairs on his crutches; they’re too narrow and steep.”

“Good. I might get the whole fucking house remodeled the same if it keeps him out of my way.”

We head down, and Matteo tells me, “I was talking to him, about this game thing? We thought maybe I could find a way in. Kill my way to the top.”

“How the fuck would you do that?”

Matteo can be particular about who he kills—he has his own code—though I hesitate to attach the word “moral” to that. If he thinks someone is a complete innocent, he’d die to protect them, but not many fall into that category for him. The man who turned him did it against his will and abused him in every possible way. He was feral when I found him, but since then he has had a fire for justice burning in his belly. He’s a fucking vigilante vampire with a lot of fury to process and no shortage of victims, but finding them in numbers that would satisfy the game’s bloodlust? That’s a different matter.

“I’ve had my eye on this place in the Bronx,” he explains. “It’s a therapy center.”

“Right. Well, what’s wrong with that? Fuck knows we could probably all do with some therapy.”

I’m saying it as a joke, but it’s true. Once things settle down—if they ever do—I might look into it. Getting someone to move into court. There’s got to be some kind of vamp or witch or whatever the fuck, who’s also a shrink. Jesus. Sad vamp on the therapist’s couch. Sounds like the world’s most fucked-up sitcom.

“It’s not really a therapy center, though, boss. I’ve been watching it, especially the people who attend. All of them are convicted child molesters, rapists, scum of the fucking earth. They’re not getting therapy. I saw one of their meetings from a basement window, listened in. It’s a fucking swap meet. Photos, stories, even names and addresses of potential targets. The therapy thing is bullshit, a cover. The guy who runs it got his qualifications by saving up coupons from fucking cereal boxes. I could kill them all, make a noise. Get a special invite to one of the Grand Ball Sack’s tourneys. What do you think? Donna’s in.”

“Yeah, I bet she is. Let me think about it. We’d need to be careful, come up with a good cover story. Now go get Yvonne.” I promised her she wouldn’t be in there for long, and I feel strangely inclined to keep my word.

He does as I tell him, while I call Aidan and inform him I’ll be there ASAP. I check in with the other heads of the Cosca families, wondering how this will factor into our relationship. I gave them good intel and helped avert a crisis. I know it’s not over, this battle that could be brewing, but it’s something. Don Luigi of the Romas is the curtest, but I expected that.

Yvonne emerges, looking angry as usual. I hand her a coffee immediately, and she sighs out loud. All is forgiven.

“Can you drive?” I ask her. She nods.

“Good. We’re going back to Hell’s Kitchen.”

Her eyes narrow, and she looks uncertain. She’s only just escaped the place after being held in captivity for eight years. How serious is she about wanting to be transformed, and does she realize this is a test? Of course she does. She nods. “No problem. Whatever you need.” And just like that, she passes the test. The first one at least.

We’re back there before too long, despite Yvonne’s rusty driving and the fact that she seems to think stop signs are for other people. Matteo looks shaken as we pull up behind the construction truck. I tell her to give the keys to Stefano, who’s waiting for us in the foyer with umbrellas. She eyes him up, gives him a small smile. He nods, obviously knows her. Maybe he was one of the guards who was kind. He looks like a fucking Navy SEAL on steroids, but who knows what’s in a man’s heart? He stayed loyal to me when the shit hit the fan, and I might be dead without him. If Yvonne is determined to become a vamp, she could do worse than have Stefano as a sire.

I’m barely two steps inside the building when I sense a problem. A strange smell, possibly weed, and then footsteps running towards me. I take it all in in a split second and groan. When will these fuckers give up? It’s a woman this time—tall, thin, long greasy hair. Looks like she was turned at Woodstock. She comes racing towards me, yelling, “I challenge you!”

At least I’m sure that’s what she intended to do. She only gets as far as “I cha” before I grab hold of her and tear her head from her shoulders. I throw it to the floor, and she blinks up at me, confused, lips flapping but not quite able to form the rest of the words. “Deal with that,” I snap at Stefano. He apologizes for her getting in and stakes the body through the heart. At least it was him getting covered in dust this time.

Aidan meets me, glaring a little at Yvonne as we approach. She gives him a subtle finger wave and a fuck-you smile.

“Get the guys outside to set up a canopy,” I tell him. “I explained what I needed on the phone. Then clear out any of the rooms near the courtyard and make sure nobody interferes with the crew while they do their work. The Albinis will not appreciate any of their men going missing, and I don’t have time to smooth out shit like that.”

“And what is their work, precisely?” he asks. He looks tired, stressed. His tie is askew, and maybe two or three hairs are out of place.

“We’re digging up that fucking garden.”

Yvonne sucks in a breath, and I stare at her. “What?”

“Nothing,” she says, wisely. “It’s just … well, it’s really pretty.”

“Maybe it is,” I reply, striding away, making her run to keep up with me. “But that garden was Vincenzo’s. He planted it, tended it, loved it. And yeah, it might look pretty, but I sure as fuck wouldn’t want to eat anything that monster cultivated, would you? We can plant a new garden. One that isn’t tainted by his corruption.”

It’ll be a nice project. One that witches might enjoy, or vamps who were that way inclined. I’m going to ask the construction guys to eventually put a retractable roof on it, like they do at sports venues when it rains. Then it won’t be out of bounds to us for half the day. Wow. Look at me, full of plans. All I have to do is survive long enough to see them through.

“Where has Rosa gone?” Yvonne asks, as we reach the office.

“None of your fucking business.”

“Is she going to Italy?”