Page 18 of Thrown to the Wolves

There. An opening. I seize it without hesitation, flipping Ariadne to her back and straddling her hips, just like Lyssa did to me. My forearm draws back, ready to slam home into that hatefully perfect face, to wipe the arrogance from her eyes for good.

“Enough.”

The single word, spoken with Grandmother’s customary quiet authority, halts me mid-strike. We both freeze, panting raggedly on the mat. Only then do I realize Grandmother has been watching from the rear gallery this entire time, observing with the dispassionate interest of an instructor evaluating her students.

She doesn’t do this often.

It’s a privilege to have her here.

Chest heaving, I withdraw from my dominant position over Ariadne and rise on shaky legs to bow my head as Grandmother walks forward, each tick of her heels on the floor a countdown to explosion.

“Disappointing, both of you,” she murmurs, tutting softly as she circles us. “I had hoped to see something more interesting from you, Scarlett, given your encounter with the Wolf. And as for you, Ariadne—you don’t use your emotion to advantage when you fight Scarlett. That’s how she bested you—by tapping into her rage.”

I suppose rage is an emotion.

Ariadne scrambles to her feet as Grandmother halts before her. “Be better. I weary of these childish squabbles. They do not become you. Now leave us.”

Ariadne shoots me one last glare before stalking away, clutching a towel to staunch the trickle of blood from a split lip.

I don’t know what comes over me, but I can’t resist calling after her. “You’re getting soft, Ariadne. Better find your edge before the Wolf?—”

That’s as far as I get before Grandmother’s slap catches me completely by surprise, whipping my head to the side with stunning force. I taste iron, feel it blossoming along the seam of my mouth. Stunned and wary, I meet her dispassionate gaze.

“When you address Ariadne, you will do so respectfully.” Each precisely enunciated word is a masterclass in cold menace. “She is lowering herself when she trains you. You have nothing to offer her, no way to challenge her or help her hone her skills. The least you can do is be grateful.”

I nod, barely trusting my voice, the torrent of vitriol I want to unleash. Grandmother look at me for a long moment before continuing in that same soft, implacable tone. “But that said, you did overcome her for a moment just now. You are improving.”

My eyes flick up sharply at that. “Thank you, Grand?—”

She cuts me off with a slender hand raised in silence. “You’ve merely confirmed that you have the capacity to become what is required. The question is…do you have the resolve?”

I still can’t keep my damn mouth shut. “I’ve killed for you many times over. Doesn’t that show my resolve?”

“Killing by surprise or deception is one thing. Now that the Wolf knows you’re coming, she’ll be on her guard. You need to toughen up, girl. If you wish to oppose her…no, if you wish to defeat her, to enact true justice…” She’s so close now that I want to back up, but I stay there, let her think she’s intimidating me. “…then you must embrace the howling void inside you. Become it utterly.”

Who am I kidding? She does intimidate me. “Yes, Grandmother.”

“I’ll call Ariadne back now,” she says. “You have work to do. Don’t you?”

“Yes, Grandmother.” She leaves me there, and while I wait for Ariadne to return, I catch sight of another trainee, battered and bruised?—

Oh. It’s only my reflection in the mirrored walls.

Who am I becoming?

CHAPTER 9

Lyssa

This time when I report to Hadria, Ricky Half-hands is also in her suite, though Suzy Sunshine’s nowhere to be found. Good. This business is only for those with the stomach for it, and Aurora is like a toasted marshmallow: a little burned on the outside, but still too sweet—and positively gooey in the middle.

Hadria sits in the oversized leather armchair in the corner, her posture regal even in repose. She’s the picture of a powerful Mafia boss, all sharp angles and cold beauty. She really was born to that Imperioli throne, and I think her dad was a moron not to see it until he was forced to take a look.

But all the same, I’m glad she told old Zepp to get fucked.

Ricky leans against the wall, hands tucked in his pockets in an unconsciously-self-conscious way, his scarred face a map of the battles he’s fought and won. My own body bears a similar roadmap.

“I’ve identified the assassin,” I announce without preamble, coming to stand before Hadria. “And now I’ll take care of the problem.”

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