This Vicious Grace (The Last Finestra #1)(56)

An understatement if she’d ever heard one. If she let herself, she’d dissolve into a sobbing puddle, so Alessa allowed herself one sniff and pulled the tainted cookie from her pocket. “Do you know who made this?”

Papa furrowed his brow. “I haven’t made a batch in a while, but Adrick was manning the kitchen yesterday. He might have. Why?”

Her heart rate kicked up, escalating at the sound of footsteps on the back stairs.

“Marcel, have you turned the sign?” Her mother stopped mid-step as though the floor had taken hold of her shoes.

“Mama.”

“Finestra.” Her mother dropped into a low curtsy. “With all due respect, you shouldn’t be here.”

Her foolish heart sank. “I know what the Verità says, Mama. I won’t stay long.”

“If you know what it says, then you know what the gods ask of us. You aren’t supposed to be here.”

“I know, but I needed to—” The words caught in Alessa’s throat. Why was she there? To unravel a mystery she didn’t want the answer to? In search of love she knew she wouldn’t find? Or simply to find closure? “Say goodbye.”

Her mother was already turning away, so Alessa couldn’t see her face when she said a curt, “Goodbye.”

Papa moved his fist in the sign for I’m sorry.

Alessa didn’t respond. It wasn’t fair to expect him to take sides, but it hurt that he wouldn’t.

Thirteen years. Thirteen years of being the sun in her daughter’s sky, and now her mother wouldn’t even look her in the eye for one last goodbye.

In that moment, something inside her withered and died.

“Is Adrick here?”

Papa winced at her cold tone. “No, he’s at the apothecary. Why—”

She was out the door before he finished.



* * *



She should have waited for Dante, but her mother’s rejection and the pain in her father’s eyes drove her away. She needed to find Adrick, to pull out the sliver of fear that she might have no one left.

Around the final corner, she nearly ran into a group of white-robed Fratellanza members clustered in front of the apothecary.

Shielding her face as if blocking a glare, Alessa darted into the narrow alley between the apothecary and the tailor next door.

For once, Dea was on her side. Adrick was out back, holding an empty crate. The tiny walled yard behind the building was crowded with them, overturned and arranged in a rough semi-circle.

Adrick gaped. “What are you doing here?”

“I have to talk to you.”

“No. You have to leave. Right now.”

Alessa fumbled for the cookie, pulling it out with a scatter of crumbs. “Who ordered these from the bakery yesterday?”

Adrick blanched. “I don’t remember.”

“Do you remember if you put poison in Papa’s lemon verbenas, or did someone add it afterward?”

Adrick pulled at his hair. “I can explain, but not now. You have to leave. This isn’t how—” He jerked his head at the sound of voices from inside the shop, his entire body tensing.

“What is wrong with you?”

“I’ll come to the Cittadella tonight, I promise. Please. Just go.”

Adrick’s alarm cut through her anger, and Alessa fled, stuffing the crumpled handkerchief back into her pocket.

The Fratellanza members were no longer out front, but every face on the street became an enemy, whether they looked her way or not. People saw what they expected to, and a clean faced girl in simple clothing wasn’t worth noting, but in her heightened state, it felt like a massive light shined directly on her, drawing every malicious gaze.

The street was crowded, and as she debated whether to head back to the bakery or try to find Dante near his old stomping grounds of the Barrel, her eyes caught on a figure a block away. It was embarrassing how easily she’d spotted him, how her attention snagged on a brief glimpse of the back of his head as he strode in the opposite direction.

She called his name, but he didn’t turn. Too many passersby did.

She’d have to catch up.

As she dodged people, trying to keep him in sight, Dante knocked shoulders with a man passing the other way, and they whirled on each other like alley cats looking for a fight.

Two women stole glances at Alessa as she passed their roadside stand, sizing her up a bit too intently, and she pulled her hood down, losing sight of Dante as she tried to melt into the crowd.

She almost walked right past the narrow alley, but Dante’s voice stopped her in her tracks. At the very end of it, he was arguing with a man in a white robe.

Alessa ducked behind a stack of barrels, heart in her throat, and watched them through a gap.

The man was tall and thick-waisted, with a shorn head. Not Ivini. Relief flooded her veins, but it didn’t last long.

“And what’s in it for me?” The man sneered, and Dante met his vitriol with extra to spare, but most of his response was drowned out by shouts from the street behind her as a cart overturned. She only caught one word.

Kill.

Stars flashed in her vision.

Was it a threat … or a promise?

The man clenched his fists.

Dante flipped his daggers, catching them by the hilts.

Alessa held her breath.