Chapter two Caterina
Agang of crows is called a murder.
And as my scarlet heels jab down into the soaked carpet, the moniker has never felt so appropriate.
“The crows are circling,” I murmur, and the circle in front of me parts. Dom turns. He scans me, his mouth tightening, but he doesn’t mention my lateness as I step up beside him, my eyes on the body responsible for the dark red liquid beneath my feet.
It twists, and my mouth curls up as I glance at Dom. “You left something for me? How kind.”
The man – and he is a man in our world, despite the slight puffiness in his cheeks that signify the last vestiges of his teen years – opens his eyes with a wheeze, flickering them around until they land on me, widening with recognition.
His choke sends a large clot of blood flying from his mouth, and I glance down with mild disinterest as it spatters next to my shoes.
I crouch, balancing my elbows on my thighs as I scan him. “Hello, Anton.”
His wheezing breaths fill the air, but he doesn’t ask why I’m here, doesn’t beg for mercy.
Something that feels a little like respect fills my chest, but it’s choked down underneath the revulsion. “We seem to have a situation.”
Straightening back up, I stand still as the group around me begins to circle Anton. Silent as they move, it jolts him into trying to sit up.
“Please,” he starts to blubber. “I didn’t know!”
“Tut, tut.” My lips twitch up into a smile. “The time for lies is over, Anton. You wove your little stories so prettily, but we’re at the end now.”
When he grabs for my foot, I slam my heel down, directly into his wrist. The punch of the bladed tips through his skin sends screaming echoing through the soundproofed building.
“Loyalty,” I say softly, as the screams peel off into choked sobs. “Loyalty is everything, Anton. It’s the backbone of who we are. And you broke your vow. You swore Omerta, but at the first test, you betrayed our entire way of life. You shared information with outsiders that did not belong to you.”
Turning, I wait for the moving crowd to stop.
“I sentence you to die.” My voice rings out, echoing off the walls in the silence. “For breaking Omerta. May your soul be judged in hell, as it has been here.”
Anton begins to weep, red-tinted tears tracking down his face, but he stays silent as I reach down and drag the thin stiletto from the back of my heel.
“Is there anything you wish to say, before I carry out your sentence?” My words make him jolt, his eyes flicking from side to side before they settle on the blade in my hand.
“A gun,” he whispers, his eyes moving to mine. “Please. Not this way.”
My hands don’t shake as I reach out, pressing the blade against his lip, the tip disappearing into his mouth. He closes his eyes, his shoulders slumping.
“Traitors don’t get to choose their path to hell.” My voice is cold. “Goodbye, Anton.”
The blade is silent as it thrusts into his mouth, his body parting like butter beneath the sharp steel before he collapses into himself, sliding off my blade and hitting the floor with a dull thump.
Carefully, I wipe the blade down with the cloth Dom hands me. My Crows wait in silence, wait for me to finish my cleaning and slide the stiletto back into my heel before I speak.
“The Courtyard. Three days.”
Two junior soldiers step forward when Dom nods at them. Grabbing Anton under his arms, they begin to drag him from the room as the rest follow, a silent vigil.
Only Dom stays, his eyes lingering on me until I finally look at him. “What?”
“Three days is a long time. His brother is here.” Fuck.
I forgot his brother joined us recently. I swallow back the tinge of regret, pushing past Dom. “You’re my enforcer, not my conscience, Dom. Three days. We don’t fuck around with traitors.”
I need air. He follows me, his irritation a familiar prickle against my skin. “Cat.”
I stop, turning and wiping every inch of expression from my face. “Do not challenge me,” I say in a low voice. “Remember your place, Domenico.”
His face tightens, and fuck if I don’t hate myself a little. But he steps back, his own expression fading as he nods his head. “As you wish. I’ll be in the Courtyard.”
He doesn’t wait for me to respond before he twists, moving away from me with his shoulders up and his head raised high.
He’ll do as I ask. But I still feel like shit as I head back the way I came. Blood spatters my arms, and the few students I come across give me a wide, respectful berth. People are silent as they watch, their eyes pricking my skin until I reach my apartment.
My key jangles in the lock, a hot shower and a strong coffee screaming my name. No time for that, though. I need to clean up
and get back out there, pristine and polished as though I haven’t just gutted a man.
My thoughts are tangled up in the betraying piece of shit now displayed out in the Courtyard like an art sculpture and Dom’s face as he walked away from me, and I don’t notice the shadow in a place where it shouldn’t be before it’s too late.
I throw my shoulder against the door, and a male grunt sounds. The door is shoved back, and I stagger, my hand dropping for my dagger as I whip it out and throw myself at my very fucking unwelcomevisitor.
“Who the fuck said that you could come here?” I snarl, pressing the blade into his neck.
A pair of vivid green eyes meet mine, and I gasp as he shoves me back, grabbing my wrists and flipping us. My stiletto blade hangs uselessly at my side as Dante presses himself into me, green eyes scanning my face.
“Caterina,” he murmurs. The door behind me clicks shut as he pushes me into the wood. “Heard you had a bad day. I’ve missed you.”
Sighing, I allow my body to relax under his, just enough for the smirk to curl the edges of his mouth before I slam my head forward and into his nose. He staggers away from me with a curse. “Fucking hell, Cat!”
Smirking, I flip my blade in my hand. “You think you can come into my territory, enter my home, without an invite?”
Dante gives me a side eye, wincing as he feels his nose. “Damn. Might be broken.”
“Whoops.” I smile. Dante’s hand falls from his face, and he crosses his arms.
We weigh each other up, both of us breathing heavily. Anton’s blood feels heavy on my skin, and Dante flicks his eyes over my arms. “I appear to be missing an informant. Thought you might need a little help.”
I raise an eyebrow. “From you? I don’t think so. My man is dead because of you.”
And his little contacts in the feds. Anton had too many fingers in too many pies, and not enough brains to keep track of them all. Thankfully, we caught him before he had the chance to do any damage by mouthing off to the cops.
He waves his hand. How easily he dismisses the loss of one of mine. He wouldn’t be so blasé if the shoe were on the other foot. “You hated Anton. He was an asshole. Excuse me if I’m not sobbing over his corpse.”
My lips press together, refusing to acknowledge the truth in his words. “How did you get in?”
He tilts his head to the side, his smile slow and curling. “Thought I’d test your security. Seems you have a few holes, principessa.”
I fight to keep my irritation off my face, the reminder that nowhere is truly safe here no matter what boundaries we pretend to put in place. “Get out.”
He steps forward instead. “I can take that edge off for you,” he murmurs. “That fizzing in your veins. The shaking in your hands. It’s been too long, Cat.”
My palms curl into fists. “Once was enough. It wasn’t particularly impressive.”
His face drops, the barb hitting home. Nothing quite insults a male like throwing shade at their sexual prowess. “You didn’t say that when you were crying out my name.”
My face flushes in response, and he moves closer, noticing my hesitation. I stiffen when his hand reaches out, but his hand wraps around my braid, tugging my head back as he moves into me, pressing his face into my neck.
“Are you wet for me now?” he whispers into my skin. “If I slide my hand into that sweet pussy of yours, would you soak my fingers?”
My eyes slide closed. A single moment to enjoy the heat curling in my stomach. He actually looks surprised when I shove him back. “I’m not one of your little V’Arezzo whores,” I snap back at him. “We had one quick fuck months ago, Dante. That’s it.”
He snarls at me. “We’re both fucking adults, Cat. It was damn good sex, and we’re intelligent enough not to let it get in the fucking way.”
There are fifty reasons why this is not a fucking good idea. A hundred reasons why I should throw him out of my room, rip my socalled security team new assholes and banish any thoughts of Dante V’Arezzo from my head.
But I’m tired.
So, I step back until my back is pressed against the door, letting a taunting smile play over my lips. Dante runs a hand over his face, his gaze focused as I drop my hands to the buttons on my leather trousers.
I flick one open, then another.
“What are you doing, Caterina?”
My grin feels savage as I push the trousers down, kicking them off over my heels. “You seem to be in a giving mood, V’Arezzo.”
I dip my fingers underneath the edge of my lace underwear, and Dante groans under his breath as he watches my fingers move over my pussy. I pinch my clit, pushing my hips out towards him.
“Get on your knees,” I murmur, “and you can have a taste.”
I expect him to balk. Heirs don’t kneel for anyone, and certainly not another heir. But he steps forward until the hard outline of his dick is pressed against my stomach. His whisper feels hot against my ear.
“There are more ways to submit than on your knees, Caterina Corvo.”
I draw in a breath as he drops to his knees at my feet. Large fingers curl into the edges of my underwear, yanking them until they rip. My head bangs back into the door, and my hands move to his shoulders as he curls his hands around my thighs and lifts me onto his face.
“F-fuck.”
I hope he can’t hear my strangled gasp, his face buried between my legs as he seals his lips around my clit and sucks. The edges of his stubble drag across my skin, and my heels dig into his back as he holds me in place, fucking me with his tongue, sliding in and out until I’m a panting, shaking mess on the edge of what promises to be fucking fireworks.
He pulls his head back, looking up at me with a smirk. His lower face is soaked with me as his hands squeeze my skin. “Say my name, principessa, and I’ll let that little cunt of yours come.”
Motherfucker.
My hands move to his head, and I tug the hair at the back of his neck roughly. “Just get the fucking job done, V’Arezzo. Stop trying to make this a fucking thing.”
In response, he turns and sinks his fucking teeth into the sensitive skin of my inner thigh. “Say it,” he demands. When I shake my head, he traces his tongue softly up my slit, enough that the building beckoning of my impending orgasm starts to douse.
“You’re an asshole,” I grit out, and his low laugh vibrates through me. He drops my legs to the floor abruptly, making me stagger.
Dante gets to his feet, his hands moving to his jeans. “Come here, Caterina.”
“Testa di cazzo,” I hiss back at him, and he tsks, clicking his tongue.
“That wasn’t very nice. Don’t you want to come?”
I’m fucking dripping, sagging against the door as he pulls his cock out, tattooed hands stroking it up and down. I was sofucking close.
“I hate you,” I throw at him, and he grins. “I know. That’s what makes this so fucking good.”
I don’t fight as he hoists me again, notching the head of his cock against my entrance and thrusting inside. My forehead presses against his shoulder as he fucks me roughly, the sound of our bodies slapping together in the air and my door thudding behind us. Dante’s movements pick up, and he presses his lips to my shoulder, making me twist away.
“Just sex,” I gasp, and I’m rewarded with a particularly hard thrust.
“Fottutatentazione,” he snarls, and I cry out as teeth sink into my neck, the sharp bite of pain yanking my climax from me with force as I shake, Dante’s arms holding me upright as I hold onto him. His release follows moments after, his groan guttural in my ear as I feel the wet heat of him between my legs.
I give myself a few seconds to catch my breath. A few, short seconds of pretending that this is anything else than an itch to be scratched before I shove at his shoulders. “Put me down.”
“Give a man a minute at least,” he mutters. His hands loosen, my feet dropping down to the floor as I disentangle myself, trying to drag back together the pieces that make up Caterina Corvo. The pieces that Dante has to see. I’m careful to wipe any expression from my face, any possible giveaway before I turn to him.
“You know where the door is. Apparently.” I duck under his arm, ignoring his muttered curse as I head towards the bathroom. “Don’t come here again, V’Arezzo.”
I slam the door behind me, pressing my back against it as I take a deep breath and listen. There’s a rustling, the sound of Dante pulling his jeans up. And a pause.
“Pretend all you want, tentazione,” he calls, and I close my eyes. “But your body can’t lie to me.”
I bite back the argument on my tongue, shove down the urge to storm back out and shout at him again until we’re tangled up in bedding, our bodies locked together in savage, fluid movement. Until I can forget the smell of blood in my nose, the feel of my blade embedded in flesh.
The feeling of taking a life. Another tick for the devil’s tally.
But that’s a fool’s dream. My front door slams shut, and thirty seconds later, I’m buried under hot water, scrubbing away any lingering traces of Anton and of the man who just spent an hour buried between my thighs.
Washing away my sins. It’s hard to know which is worse.
For one, I’m answerable to whatever deity is up there. Or down there, depending on how you look at these things.
For the other, I’m answerable to my family.
I know which I’d prefer. It takes longer than I’d like to admit to put myself back together, my hair braided tightly against my face. I collect a new pair of black shiny stilettos from my wardrobe, slowly sliding my daggers into them.
I then spend a good fifteen minutes swearing at and then trying to cover the fucking bite mark on my neck.
I’m still cursing under my breath when I reach the Courtyard.
The crowd has already gathered, silent and still as I weave between them. A path miraculously opens up, and I pause at the edges.
The Crows are circling.
V’Arezzo. Morelli. Asante. Fusco. More are filtering in behind me, their footsteps echoing in the harsh silence as the crowd watches the Crows demonstrate exactly what we do to traitors.
Anton’s eyes are still open, the white lined with cracks of red as he lays on the ground at the base of the northern red oak tree that stands in the middle of our campus. Blood continues to pool beneath his head, a cushion against the stone slabs.
Maybe elsewhere, at another college or university, students might be whispering. Shocked, crying, asking why the fuck there’s a body displayed in public.
But not here.
Here, the watchers are pale and silent. Understanding the warning we’re kindly giving them; in the only neutral place we have.
Therearenosecondchances.
A dirty blonde head of hair catches my eye. Paul Maranzano marches with the Crows, his eyes dull as he looks away from his brother’s body. Dom is behind him, his eyes focused on the back of Paul’s head.
He doesn’t look at me.
Crossing my arms, I watch, blanketed in the isolation of being a predator amongst prey. The crowd gives me a wide berth.
At least, most of them do.
A low whistle sounds at my side, the low voice warmer than it should be given the circumstances. “You Crows really do know how to make an impression.”
I don’t look at him. “Morelli.”
“Caterina.” He shifts, crossing his arms to mirror mine. Dom is looking over now, the faintest edges of a frown pulling at his mouth, but he doesn’t move from his spot.
“Tell me,” Luc presses. “Do you eat them afterwards? Scavenge them?”
I turn to him then. Even I can appreciate that Luciano Morelli, heir to the Morelli crime family, is a beautiful man. He was a pretty boy, angelic even, but as a man, his wings have grown darker. His eyes almost twinkle as he meets my gaze, deep hazel eyes set against olive skin. Even the messy hawk on top of his head looks carelessly perfect, the sides carefully shaved into strong lines. The slight crook in his nose only adds to his charm.
And he fucking knows it.
“Who knows,” I say softly. “Maybe you’ll find out one of these days, Luciano.”
His jaw tightens at my not-so-subtle admonishment. Giving me a short nod, he melts back into the crowd. I scan the people around us, catching Dante leaning against a wall in the corner. His enforcer, Rocco, stands beside him, but Dante’s eyes aren’t on the Crows.
No. They’re on me, and my neck.
My hand twitches with the urge to reach up and cover the mark he made, the brand he tried to place on my skin. My make-up has enough coverage to blot it out completely. No-one will be able to see it.
My fingers flex at my side as I step forward. My Crows stop immediately, but it’s Paul I move to. His eyes are on the ground, his jaw tight and hands clenched. He flinches when I put my hand on his shoulder.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” I murmur, and he shudders. His eyes are wet when he looks up at me.
“I didn’t know—,”
I cut off his panicked explanations. “I know, Paul. Start the call.”
Comprehension fills his face, along with confusion. “But – but he was a traitor. He broke Omerta.”
His voice cracks on the last word. Paul is a new arrival, one of the youngest and newest here as a cugine – a junior soldier, nowhere near made man status. Pity twists my chest. He’ll see far more than this before his time here is done. I can’t shelter him from it.
But I can give him this.
“Call for your brother, Paul,” I whisper. “The Crows will follow.”
He nods shakily, this boy who turned into an adult the moment he watched his brother be executed for treason. Blowing out a breath, he takes a few seconds to compose himself before he raises his head.
His cry echoes out into the Courtyard, a mournful wail of grief that hits me directly in the chest, even as I take a breath and follow his lead.
One after another. Our grief rises up, one after another, until the space around us is filled with the cries. Hearus.
We have not called for anyone in our time here. Dante straightens, his face slacking a little before he wipes the expression from his face. Luciano, for once empty of his charm, stands silently before us, watching.
We are the Crows.
And we mourn the loss of one of our own.
When our voices trail away, our harsh cries silenced by the limitations of our own throats, I turn to Dom. Perhaps he was right, earlier. No need to hammer this particular message home.
The silence in the Courtyard tells me that the message has already been received.
“Burn him,” I say hoarsely. “Send the ashes to his parents. I’ll speak with them.”
Paul stiffens on my other side, but he doesn’t argue, doesn’t ask for any more. Anton is lucky to have received the call at all, and he knows it. I did it for him, to try and nudge one of mine in the right direction and avoid his heart hardening with resentment and anger.
But my mercy only extends so far. And our traitors do not rest with family.
