Page 49 of His Eternal Claim

Every pair of eyes shifts between us.

Cowards always love front row seats to executions.

Vane tilts his head. “Will the great Zagreus Vitale not avenge his Father?”

Ah, there it is.

This isn’t even politics.

But an old bastard poking a starving wolf with a cane just to see if it still bites.

My thumb brushes over the cold metal of my ring. I look down at it for a second.

Mostly because looking at Vane too long makes me curious how difficult it will be to remove a man’s spine through his mouth.

Probably messy. Probably worth it.

“Of course.” I shrug. “Did you think I’d send flowers?”

One idiot coughs into his fist to hide a laugh.

Brave. Suicidal.

The same thing in this room.

Vane’s eyes narrow just enough for me to enjoy it. “Then I assume,” he croons, “blood will answer blood.”

“It usually does.”

What I don’t say…

Especially when I’m the one who spilled it.

Minor detail.

Family matter.

None of their fucking business.

Vane nods slowly. Like we understand each other. We don’t. I understand chess better.

He thinks we are playing it.

I am just deciding which piece to set on fire first.

“Very well.” His lips curl. “Oh and…” His gaze sweeps the room. “As we’re speaking of weddings…” My fists curl, knowing wherever this conversation is going will lead to a bloodbath. “I’d also like everyone present to know…” Vane sets his glass down. “My son will be marrying Visconti’s daughter next month.”

Ah.

There it is.

There’s the knife.

Not aimed at my throat.

But close enough to feel the cold.

Davenport. Visconti. Bianchi.