Chapter 22 · Blood on the Stone

"Give me the girl's body," Salvatore said through the radio. "And I'll call off my dogs."

My uncle sounded calm. Like he was ordering lunch.

Dante's blood was running between my fingers.

"Don't," I said.

He had the handset halfway to his mouth. I slapped it out of his grip. It skidded across the marble foyer and cracked against a pillar. Salvatore kept talking—tinny, distant, still haggling for my corpse.

Dante leaned his head back against the wall and laughed. It came out wet.

"That's my wife you're throwing things at."

"That's your wife keeping you from saying something stupid." My voice shook. I hated that it shook. "Hold still."

The power was dead. Red emergency strips ran along the baseboards, turning every shadow slick and bruised. Two of his men had dragged him in from the drive. One was already back outside with a rifle. The other hovered over us, twitching, waiting for a command Dante didn't have the breath to give.

"Get the medical kit," I snapped at the guard. "Kitchen cabinet, under the sink. Move."

The guard looked at Dante. Dante gave him a single, tight nod.

The man ran.

I went after Dante's jacket first.