Page 87 of Clash of Sin and Secret

I enter the gathering hall with Scottie at my side, her presence both comforting and concerning. Having her here will bring her importance to me into focus for a lot of powerful and dangerous vampires.

Fondatori are said to be allies but my father always taught me that given the opportunity, even allies will take your weaknesses and exploit them.

It’s the sad truth of royalty.

Head held high, shoulders back, I enter with every ounce of confidence and arrogance I can muster. They need to see that I am a man, not the orphaned son of a prominent leader.

The elaborate chamber stretches before us, its ancient stone walls having borne silent witness to centuries of vampire politics and power plays.

The round table dominates the center, its polished surface reflecting the warm glow of overhead chandeliers. There is no head, no foot—just equals in a circle.

At least in theory.

My gaze sweeps the room, cataloging faces both familiar and foreign. Many of these vampires have ruled their territories since the formation of the new world order kings when my father first left the old country.

Francesco Vasari was first generation Fondatori.

The weight of their combined age and influence presses against my skin like a physical force.

Ashikaga turns from where he’s speaking to one of the squires, his features as serene as a frozen lake. He strides over to greet us and bows slightly. “Vasari-san, you are looking well, young king.”

I return the bow and meet his gaze. “It has been a difficult time, but kings must rise above such matters in order to best represent their people.”

“True enough.” He turns his attention to my right. “I am Ashikaga Hikotaka, King of Kyoto.”

“Scotland McCullough. It’s an honor to meet you, Hikotoka-san. My father spoke often of your honor and long-term support to Francesco and the Vasari clan.”

He dips his chin. “Your father was a man of great honor himself. I am humbled by his praise. He is a man not soon to be forgotten. May he rest in peace.”

Scottie accepts his condolences with grace. “Thank you.”

As we step apart, I take in the other faces turned toward us. Some look sympathetic, while others have a glint of reservation in their eyes.

Other than Ashikaga, I wouldn’t trust anyone in this room to have my back.

Movement catches my eye, and my attention is drawn to a man who—by his resemblance to my father—could be no other than my cousin, Agostino.

He’s standing with Nikolai Gruzdev, the weaselly Russian king that has fallen short of every standard set by his father, Zhdan.

The two of them have their heads bent together in conspiratorial closeness.

I study the man who cost me and my clan so much. He has the same old-world Vasari features as my father, and it hits me like a punch to the gut. The same proud nose, the same thick black hair. But where my father’s eyes held warmth, Agostino’s gleam with cold ambition.

Nikolai says something that makes Agostino laugh, his voice carrying across the chamber. The Russian’s reputation for mindless arrogance is well-earned.

Together they form a dangerous alliance.

If you get distracted by the little fish splashing and blowing bubbles, you won’t be paying attention when the sharks circle.

I hear my father’s words of warning as clearly as if he were standing here with me.

Don’t worry, Father. I’ve got my eye on the shark.

“The Fondatori will come to order,” Ashikaga announces, his voice cutting through the quiet murmur of conversation.

I stride over to the throne upholstered in oxblood leather, with silver and black accents. Agostino makes to move toward it, but I see it’s a ploy simply to get a rise out of me.

I don’t give him the satisfaction.

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