Blood Runs Black by Sylvia San Sebastian

Author:Sylvia San Sebastian [San Sebastian, Sylvia]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2023-12-01T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE: DANTE

The birds coo under mid-morning sun, uncaring of the lines of gunmetal that have replaced our gates. The Nightshade house—our bloodied cathedral—still soars high above, but its majesty is ruined by the scorched, crumbling facade. Ruined by the presence of Pedro’s soldiers, their faces all ugly with suspicion.

For a moment, I fear they won’t let me inside. I almost force my entry until I remember Barbara’s accusation, Pedro’s crossed arms, Sofia’s refusal to meet my gaze.

And the Don’s final wheezed command.

The rest of the house is hollow and eerily silent. But not empty, never empty. Not now when I can feel the glares prickling the back of my neck.

They never dared that before.

The corridor to the Don’s makeshift room is exactly the same as I left it. Curtains drawn shut, air stale, embroidered carpet muffling footsteps. A man pats me down and I’m forced to surrender my knife. I don’t need it, I remind myself. It won’t help.

He swings the door open and leaves me inside. Ten seconds pass before he leaves the hall.

The Don’s labored breaths rattle the air like a freight train. From the doorway he resembles a slumbering dragon, a washed up beast. The strangeness of being left alone in a room with him has never ceased. I can see him, hear him, even smell him. But I can’t feel the currents of his blood, can’t hear the flutter of his heart, can’t sense the shape of his soul.

Almost like he doesn’t have one.

“Dante,” he rasps. He lifts a hand, beckoning, and I approach his bedside. He doesn’t have to tell me to stand an arm’s length away. Even in the darkness I can tell there is no sleepy blur in his gaze. His stare is razor-sharp, the way it’s always been.

My throat is dry, and my pulse pounds in my ears. But I bow my head and run a hand through my hair, hoping that it doesn’t look too mussed. Mussed enough to prove that his mission wasn’t easy, but not messy enough that I seem like a stranger to combs.

“The mission was successful,” I tell him. “Leone Cava has been taken care of.”

I draw one of Leone’s blood spikes from my pocket and hold it between two fingers. It sparkles between us, otherworldly and crimson. The Don holds out his palm and I drop it, only for the spike to melt as soon as it meets his skin. The redness trickles onto his impeccable sheets. A powerful bloodcurse extinguished by his touch.

Then I realize the Don is eyeing my hand.

“Did he give you a hard time?” he asks, voice gruff. I clench my hand into a fist, hiding the fresh scars. Leone’s handcuffs were torturous, though I don’t blame him. He’s finally learned his lesson about trusting the wrong people.

“Yes,” I reply. “He was very powerful, angry, and determined not to die.” I chuckle, unable to help it. “But I got him in the end.”

“I am surprised he got close enough to injure you.

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