Page 97 of Dance of Madness

And ifitdoesn’t clear my head?

I’mfucked.

“Guilty.”

The finality of The Stag’s tone seals the fate that Tony DiCorzo honestly already had when he walked in here tonight.

Changing your name and moving to Europe might seem like a good idea if you’re Tony and trying to weasel out of a blood marker you signed eighteen years ago.

But when your grand escape plan involvesmoving in with your fucking cousinin Piedmont, where everyone back here fuckingknowsyour family is from?

That’s just lazy.

And tonight, Tony’s going to pay for that laziness with his life.

I know that some people view the Black Court as pure vigilante anarchy. That we’re a bunch of bloodthirsty psychos running around in masks in an underground cathedral doling out sentences and executions like the Spanish Inquisition on acid.

But the truth is, the underworldneedsus.

The criminal world we all exist has few rules, but nature. But there are ones that will not and cannot be broken. Blood markers are one of those rules.

Two parties, one promise, signed in literal blood. You don’t break one of those. You don’t joke about breaking one of those.

Because without it, and without the basic foundation these simple rules of our world create, the whole thing devolves into actual anarchy.

You’re fucking welcome, criminals of the world.

The Raven rolls his neck as he rises from his seat next to me and descends from the dais. He stands in front of a stricken-looking Tony and tips his head to the side.

“Fight, or flight.”

The whole cathedral space falls silent. Like the onlookers are holding their collective breath, waiting to hear what's next.

The Raven points to the table laden with axes, knives, swords, clubs, brass knuckles and more.

“You can fight,” he murmurs, “Or…” He turns and gestures at the stone arch leading into the labyrinth. “You can take flight. What’s it going to be, Tony?”

Tony turns and eyes the table of goodies with a hollow, pale face.

Swear to fuck, if another fucking Barone brother gets to use those dueling pistols before I do?—

“Flight.”

Interesting. I didn’t see that coming.

Tony’s a brawler type, a tough guy, and he’s got a brawler’s physique: shorter, wider, a bit barrel-chested.

Notexactlythe long legs of a runner, if you know what I mean.

The Raven exhales like he’s annoyed. “Just pick fucking fight, asshole.”

Tony trembles. “Y-you said I had a choice!”

“I mean,you do,” Nico sighs. “I just don’t fucking feel like running tonight.” He exhales heavily and swivels to me. “Wolf, help me out here.”

My pulse quickens.

Excellent.

---