Then again, there were other stories, too. Sad ones of destiny giving, then taking away. Playing with people’s lives, minds, and hearts as if they were toys.
She gulped. Which was this?
All that swirled through a corner of her mind while she lost herself in those beautiful, golden-brown eyes. The ones swirling at her like she was the most amazing thing he’d ever seen.
Then someone stepped between them, and Cara blinked. “Whoa. Wait.”
Four men stomped over. But instead of focusing on the intruder, they grabbed Tony by the arms. And instead of giving him a pat on the back, they glared as if he was a criminal.
“Tony,” someone hissed.
“Is it really you?”
“Murderer. Get him.”
Cara blinked. “Hey. Wait a minute. He was helping.”
“This man is a criminal,” the man insisted.
“No, they’re the criminals.” She pointed.
The guards broke out some handcuffs and slapped them on Matteo, the other intruders, and Tony.
Cara waved her hands. “I’m telling you, he didn’t do anything wrong.”
“He didn’t,” Fiorina agreed.
But the guards didn’t relent. Cara could have screamed. Why didn’t Tony protest? Why didn’t he explain?
Heavy footsteps sounded at the door, and someone breathed, “Don Ercole.”
Everyone spun around and bowed.
Cara did a double take. The Don Ercole?
She’d spent the past four months in Venice, making sure to steer clear of shifter politics. But even she knew Don Ercole was top dog — er, top lion. A living legend, some said. Cara hadn’t really believed the hyperbole, but now…
Wow. The man didn’t simply step into the room — his commanding presence steamrolled in, making everyone cower.
Well, nearly everyone. Tony kept his gaze perfectly level, and Cara did the same.
“Zio Ercole,” Fiorina whispered, ducking into a little curtsy.
Cara did a double take. The mighty Don Ercole was Fiorina’s uncle?
Technically, my godfather, Fiorina murmured into her mind.
The man glared at Tony and rumbled dangerously, “Antonio Pellegrini.”
“Don Ercole,” Tony murmured, refusing to stand down.
Ercole — the name said it all. Hercules. Who would dare stand up to Venice’s highest-ranking shifter?
Well, Tony, for one. Everyone stood still, holding their breath. If Ercole and Tony were a couple of dragon shifters, the room might have erupted into a firestorm. But as lion shifters, they stood perfectly still, glaring. Cara could practically picture their lion tails twitching in the prelude to a fight.
But shaken voices drifted in from the hallway, along with nervous calls and jittery laughs.
“False alarm,” someone said.
“No fire after all,” another agreed.
Then a mighty whoosh sounded overhead, and everyone flinched. Cara looked up.
“What was that?” someone outside cried.
A dragon, taking flight, Cara decided. But who? Why?
Don Ercole frowned, as did Tony. But most of the party guests seemed to write it off as they filed back into the palace and resumed the festivities.
The lines on Don Ercole’s face deepened, and he motioned to his guards. “We’ll attend to this matter in the Palazzo Rigoni. You and you, keep her safe.” He pointed at Fiorina, then glared at Tony. “The rest of you, bring him in. Don’t let that lowlife get away.”
Cara’s cheeks heated. “Lowlife? He just saved Fiorina.”
Don Ercole turned to her, and yikes. If looks could kill…
“This man is a murderer. A cold-blooded killer.”
Cara nearly shook her head. Don Ercole was the coldest man in the room by a mile, while the man he accused was innocent. Honorable. Trustworthy. She’d only just met Tony, but those qualities came through in every action, every word.
But, damn. How was she ever going to convince a man like Don Ercole of that?
Chapter Five
Tony took a deep breath. His cousin Rocco stood in the shadows behind Don Ercole, signaling wildly. Make a break for it. Quick!
Tony shook his head ever so slightly. Running would only make things worse. Besides, he was tired of pretending to be someone else.
Stand tall and stand proud, his father had said a long, long time ago.
The few memories he had of his father were hazy, but that one stood out clear as a bell.
We may not be rich in money, but we have all the honor in the world — honor we earn. And that, my boy, is something no one can ever steal or deny.
His father, like generations of Pellegrinis, had served the Guardians of Venice. And like most of his ancestors, he had died in the name of duty. That was practically a given in their line of work. Higher-born men met in gilded halls to issue judgment or decrees, but it was the Guerrieri — a special class of foot soldier — who kept evil at bay. As surely as Don Ercole and others were destined to rule from the top, Tony, like all Pellegrinis, was destined to serve his city in more practical ways.
At least he had, until one fateful day.
When the guards shoved him along, he went willingly — so much so, it surprised him. Maybe part of him needed to be home so badly, it didn’t matter that the consequences were dire.
Or maybe it was her.
Cara. His lion sniffed the air eagerly.
Who was she? Where had she come from?
From two steps ahead of him, she glanced back, worried.
Worried for me, his inner lion glowed.
The guards yanked his handcuffs as if to underscore the point. You should be worried, buddy.
He winced, but the pain didn’t chase the fluttering butterflies out of his soul. Joyous blue and green butterflies, the color of Cara’s eyes.
He blinked a few times. Wait. Blue and green?
Lion shifters, like their wild kin, were born with blue-gray eyes that gradually changed to a tawny, orange-brown. But hers were different. One was blue and one was green. Or had he been imagining things?
The next time she glanced back, his breath caught. Left side blue, right side green, just as he’d thought. Even more of her hair had escaped the bun in the course of the fight, and he itched to step over and let the rest spring free. To run his fingers through her tight curls and…
“Cut that out,” the guard muttered, shoving him.
Tony growled. Then his nose twitched, and he growled at the scent of thick perfume. The guards had bustled him out of the music room, down the hall, and out onto the patio overlooking the Grand Canal. Earlier, the place had been packed with guests, all clustered around one woman.
Julienne de Marbot. The countess from France, or so someone had claimed. The malicious one with something to hide. Had she fled with the other guests at the false alarm, or had she snuck off in a different manner?
Every instinct told him it was the latter, and he scanned the sky.
“Wait,” Cara insisted, breaking him out of his thoughts.
A boat was waiting at the edge of the terrace, and the guards had already helped Don Ercole and Fiorina aboard. Fiorina beckoned to Cara, who hesitated, looking back.
“We’re leaving,” Don Ercole barked.
Cara didn’t seem to mind, but Fiorina pleaded, “Please. Please, stay with me.”
Cara gazed at Tony, looking pained. Truly pained, as if they were lovers about to be parted forever.