Page 15 of Consort of the Crime Queen

Panic claws my chest but I force myself to meet his bloodshot gaze. Show no fear. I am no longer the timid waif he met that day of the wedding, traded like chattel to pay her father's debts.

No. I'm quite a different person these days.

I glance around the room, trying to see it through the eyes that Lyssa and Hadria have taught me to see with. What can I use to defend myself?

What can I use as a weapon?

Nero looks me up and down. "I thought you'd be happy to see me. Did you miss me?"

Ignoring the spike of nausea, I tilt my chin and eye the dinner tray behind him. The knife is as dull as always, but it's still something. I don't reply.

His smile twists. "Playing hard to get won't make me want you less." He moves as I move, blocking my path, and leans in, sour breath hot on my face. "Tell me, did you spread your pretty thighs for my sister too?"

Anger replaces fear. "I owe you nothing."

"Whore," he hisses, spittle spraying my cheek. "I know Hadria corrupted you. Made you her little plaything. I saw you at that meeting—" His hand clamps my wrist, wrenching me against him.

Everything becomes clear to me in an instant.

My weakness has always been an easy trust in others. Trusting that others have good intentions toward me. Trusting in someone else's ability to save me. But I need to be able to save myself.

I'm alone here. All I have in this moment is…me.

I bring my knee up sharply, satisfaction flaring as it connects squarely with his groin. Nero chokes, grip loosening, and then I shove him away. He stumbles but recovers, rage in his eyes, fist drawing back. I twist sideways and his blow glances off my shoulder.

My eyes land on the lamp on the nightstand. I grab it and swing up as hard as I can, hard enough to rip the cord right from the wall, and I smash it straight into the side of Nero's head. He collapses without another sound, shards of heavy pottery surrounding his limp body—and blood seeping from his temple. The carpet around him stains red, but his chest rises and falls.

He's unconscious. But alive.

I freeze, listening for running footsteps, but there are none.

Now is my chance. The door is still unlocked, and the guards have retreated, all the better to claim ignorance of Nero's presence here. And Don Imperioli must still be out, since there's no way Nero would have tried this with his father home.

I should run. I should run right out of here and never look back, but my feet remain rooted to the floor as I stare down at my would-be tormentor. Defenseless. Bleeding.

I could kill him.

The thought comes unbidden. I stoop, lifting up the electric cord of the lamp.

Kill him.

Garrote him with this cord and be free of his threats forever. Hadria would want it, too; want me to prove I'm not the weakling everyone believes me to be. Show my ultimate and eternal loyalty to her.

Become the monster I know I need to be if I am to survive—to thrive—in Hadria's world.

My hand trembles as I tighten the cord between my hands. Nero's eyelids flutter and I freeze, poised over his neck. Hesitation wars with anger inside me.

What am I becoming?

I don't think I can do this. I'm not a killer. Not yet. I lower the cord, ashamed of myself. I'm too weak to do it. Not like this. There will be another day to confront Nero, but I can't do it like this.

I don't bother to even glance back at him before I slip into the hallway outside the bedroom, heart slamming painfully in my chest. Now comes the true test. The Imperioli estate sprawls before me. And somewhere beyond this sea of marble and money lies freedom.

Somewhere beyond is Hadria, and my way back to her.

Pressing my back against the wall, I slide towards the shadows pooled at the end of the corridor, ears straining for any sound. Muffled exchanges drift from an open doorway ahead, and I have to pause, check carefully to make sure none of them are facing the door. But the guards are oblivious as I creep past.

Moonlight from an arched window illuminates my way as I descend the grand curved staircase, wincing at each creak of my steps. The cavernous foyer lies still and silent, empty of Imperioli men. I scurry across the parquet floor, my bare feet silent. Almost there. Almost to freedom.

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