74

74


“Aronne Santini?!” Romeo’s voice thundered through the hall.

“This is impossible he’s dead!”

The man standing before Gosto bore a striking resemblance to him, down to the raven-black hair and sharp jawline. A cold smirk tugged at his lips. “Go on, brother. Say it. You know who I am.” His tone was ice, soaked in venomous loathing. But what unsettled me most wasn’t the hatred in his voice it was that I recognized it. It was the voice of the stranger I’d met in the garden the one who’d spoken of the spirits haunting Sibilla Island.

Gosto's throat bobbed. His jaw locked tight, fists clenched at his sides. He stared his twin in the eye, his expression contorting under the weight of memory and heartbreak.

Behind him, Fosco moved silently into a defensive stance, claws unsheathing as his body tensed. Gosto flicked a glance over his shoulder, a silent command passing between them. The tension was palpable. One wrong move, and blood would stain the marble floor. Gosto was clearly trying to avoid that, and his second-in-command knew it.

Grinding his teeth, Fosco reluctantly stepped back and retracted his claws.

“You may wear my brother’s face, speak with his voice,” Gosto said hoarsely, “but it’s a demon that speaks through you.”

Aronne gave a dry chuckle. “How wrong you are,” he said, sweeping his gaze across the room.The Night council members shrank in their seats, dread thickening the air. I instinctively retreated behind Leandro, hoping to remain unnoticed. But Aronne’s eyes slid back to Gosto, sharp and gleaming.

“You brought her with you.” His voice slithered into the silence, and I knew instantly he was referring to me. My stomach dropped. “You wanted her to witness your triumph. But she’s about to see your downfall.”

A dark grin tugged at Gosto’s lips. “Are you sure of that?” A fierce light ignited in his eyes.

Alighiero stepped forward, placing himself beside Aronne. “This gathering was meant for the night council to recognize Aronne as the rightful heir,” he declared. “We don’t wish for your death. Yield the throne, and let your brother claim what’s his or we will take it by force.”

Gosto’s snarl bared his teeth. “You once called Domitilla an abomination, and now you align yourself with a demon?!”

Alighiero surged forward, rage etched into every step, but Aronne raised a hand, halting him. His eyes shifted to Romeo, his voice rising like a storm. “I am descended from Lucifer himself! Gifted the might of General Beliale! There is no one stronger in this realm than I!” Then, locking eyes with Gosto, he sneered. “Not even my brother can stand against me.”

He snapped his fingers.

Masked figures positioned around the upper tier of the auditorium immediately sprang into motion, claws bared as they sealed off every exit.

“Shit,” Ermes muttered beside me, realizing what was happening. “They’re planning to hold the council hostage force their hand.”

Leandro growled low in his throat. “We have to get Domitilla out. He’s here for her too.”

My heart hammered wildly. I peeked out from behind Leandro’s broad form and met Gosto’s eyes. His gaze betrayed a swirl of emotions. Despite everything, I could tell some part of him still saw Aronne as his brother. But I felt the aura leaking off Aronne like acid. Gosto must have sensed it too.

“You cannot coerce the night council into crowning you!” Romeo shouted, rising to his feet. A chorus of voices echoed his defiance as more of the night council members stood with him.

Fosco and Leandro exchanged a swift look before turning their eyes to me. “Get ready,” Leandro muttered. “This is about to get ugly.”

Aronne laughed, and his wolves joined him. “Can’t force them?” he scoffed. “Then who’s going to stop me?”

Gosto’s claws slid free with a vicious sound. “I will!” he roared.

At his signal, the doors to the hall burst open. His warriors charged in, clashing with the masked men in a violent blur of motion.

Leandro shoved me downward. “Stay low!”

“I can fight!” I snapped.

“You’re a fucking Nephilim, Domitilla!” he growled. “If the council finds out what you are, they’ll fear you even more than Aronne and Alighiero combined!”

I bit back a retort. He might be right. They had once marked me for death for merely uncovering the truth about the vampires. If they learned I was a Nephilim, I’d become the ultimate threat.

Crouching between rows of seats, I waited, breath locked in my throat.

Below, Gosto and Fosco launched at Aronne and Alighiero. The space trembled with their impact. They moved too fast to track, dark blurs clashing with terrifying force. My fingers wove together in prayer.

The hall descended into chaos. Gosto’s forces collided with Aronne’s and Alighiero’s in a storm of snarls, screams, and blood. The metallic scent clung to the air. Leandro shoved my head lower. “Stay down!”

I hated every second of it. I could fight. Power coiled inside me like a living force, begging to be released.

Suddenly, one of the wolves lunged at Leandro, forcing him to break away from me. I sprang to my feet. Across the hall, I saw Diamante knocked off balance by a masked man.

“Stay away from her!” I shouted, slamming my fist into his jaw. He stumbled, blinking at me through a smooth black mask, his eyes glowing red as claws slid from his fingers.

“Behind you!” Diamante cried.

I spun, ducking beneath a second attacker’s claws and sweeping his legs out from under him. Blocking the first one’s strike, I rammed my fist into his gut, sending him crashing through several rows of chairs.

“Domitilla!” Leandro called, rejoining me with blood already coating his claws. His gaze scanned me anxiously.

“I’m fine,” I told him, flashing a quick smile. He nodded and ripped through the back of another masked fighter.

“Domitilla, catch!” Ermes shouted. I turned to see a night stone dagger flying toward me, hilt-first.

“Why do you have this?” I demanded, catching it mid-air.

He grinned. “I figured you’d need it once the shit hit the fan.”

I mouthed a thanks and buried the blade in the throat of a snarling wolf. Spinning, I decapitated another who had just knocked Diamante down. “You okay?” I asked, helping her up.

She nodded and dove at another shifting attacker. Leandro hovered within arm’s reach, ready to defend, though I kept proving I didn’t need it.

“Enough!” Gosto’s voice split the room like thunder.

I turned. He was panting, his claws sunk into Aronne’s throat, lifting him off the floor. “This ends now!”

Aronne choked, feet dangling. Alighiero lay unconscious nearby, pinned by Fosco. The enemy warriors froze.

A chill crept through me. They were surrendering too easily. Something was wrong.

I looked at Aronne.

Blood trickled from his neck, but he was grinning right at me.

I froze. His lips moved. I knew the words were meant for me.

You’re mine.

His shaking hand slid beneath his cloak. Gosto didn’t notice. I was too far to shout.

He pulled something out a red crystal, exactly like the one I’d seen in my vision.

“No!” I cried, but it was too late.

The crystal hit the ground and shattered, releasing a plume of black smoke.

Gosto coughed and dropped him. “What the fuck?!” Fosco yelled, but he too began to choke.

Then I looked up and my blood ran cold.

Every masked man had a crystal in hand.

And as one, they smashed them to the floor.