Page 100 of The Worst Pucking Deal

Lucia startles as light suddenly illuminates us, from one of the guards holding a burning torch. “This way, please,” he says.

When I look around I don’t spot Remus anywhere. I bet the fucker used the darkness to slip away undetected. Is it any fucking wonder I don’t trust him? Pulling shit like this just makes him seem more shady than Lucia tells me he is.

“Where are we going?” I finally ask when it feels like we’ve walked for an eternity.

“The Vatican Necropolis,” she explains softly. “It’s a place hidden beneath the Basilica of St. Peter and it’s said to be where he’s buried.”

It’s clear from her tone that she’s awed, which, okay, it’s pretty cool. Maybe if we weren’t walking toward our potential deaths, I might be able to appreciate it.

“It’s an ancient city of death. There are mausoleums and tombs. At least that’s how the story goes. I’ve never been here before, but it makes sense the Senate wants to meet here.”

As we are led into a brightly lit area by the guards, I can feel the tension in the air thickening with each step. The room we enter is grand, with ten figures seated on pedestals, their identities concealed behind elaborate gold masks. Only one person stands unmasked, and as my gaze settles on him, I feel a surge of anger coursing through me.

Lucia

Fabian smiles cruelly as he looks at me, and it sends a shiver down my spine as he utters those words that cut like a knife. “Welcome home, wife.” Every fiber of my being screams with fury at the sight of him, but I force myself to maintain composure, to keep myself in check.

Next to me, Sawyer lets out a menacing growl. “I think you mean ex wife.”

Even though he’s breaking protocol, I can’t bring myself to care. If they execute us for it, I’ll die fucking happy. Knowing we stood tall and didn’t cower to a bunch of cowards hiding their faces.

“Enough!” Since the Senate’s gold masks cover their mouths I don’t know who spoke. “We’re not here to trade insults. We’re here to determine the fate of Lucia Alexandria Russo.”

“Noted,” another says.

I assume they’re speaking English for Sawyer’s sake, and maybe mine. Language is like a muscle, even your native language gets rusty after hardly using it for ten years. So I appreciate it no matter the reason.

Fabian looks behind us. “Where’s the third accused?” he asks in a sharp tone. “We demanded three to appear but I only count two.”

Sy takes my hand, squeezing it, as I shift my weight from one foot to another. I mentally curse at myself and stop fidgeting. I shouldn’t show them my nerves.

Just as I’m about to say… something, anything, Remus’ voice rings out for all to hear. “You don’t command me, sheep.” The sneer in his tone is all too clear. It even makes some of the people on the Senate flinch. “I’m here. But you don’t deserve to see me unless you’re ready to bow and swear your loyalty to me again.”

Two people stand, taking a knee simultaneously. “Please, Don,” one of them pleads. “We didn’t know you would be summoned and we know we have no right to do so.”

“Mercy,” the other cries.

Remus’ laugh reverberates around the room. Then there’s a wind blowing out the torches, and when they’re finally relit, the guys kneeling on the floor are gone.

“What’s the meaning of this?” Fabian roars, slamming his fist into the marble wall. “Show yourself.”

Again, Remus laughs, but doesn’t say anything else.

Someone stands, pointing at Fabian. “This is your meeting and your summoning. The Senate will not favor you for playing games. Get to why we’re here.”

Fabian sneers. “This is Lucia Russo’s trial, and—”

The man shakes his head. “It was meant to be her trial, yes. But you summoned the Don as well. That changed the rules of the game. As the accuser you must state your case in front of the Senate.”

“I am on the Senate you dumb fuck,” Fabian spits angrily.

Another stands. “You cannot both be the accuser and judge, jury, and executioner.”

I try to hide my smile, but it’s hard. This is exactly what Remus foresaw would happen, and so far it’s turning out in our favor. So far…

Instead of looking bothered, Fabian grins. “I was going to recuse myself, anyway. I chose to be the accuser, as is my right.” He runs his hand through his hair as he walks to where Sawyer and I stand. “You all know Lucia Russo was given to me and married me upon her sixteenth birthday.”

A chorus of agreement sounds.

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