FEATURED | #1 in whodunnit for over four weeks | #1 in the third chaos award
When you can't trust in angels, you turn to the devil for a pact.
Alessandro Steno is Venice's living legend. Trying to wash old blood off his hands, he hunts the city's...
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"Are you planning my brother's murder right in front of me?"
Alessandro turned in his seat, finding Lorenzo raise an eyebrow at Giacinto. He winked at Alessandro. Or perhaps Laelia. Perhaps Giacinto. It was hard to tell.
"Yes," Giacinto said.
"No," Laelia said.
"That's bold, even for you, Cinto." Lorenzo slid onto the bench next to Alessandro. His thigh was hot against Alessandro's. The bench might be narrow and Alessandro's own broad stature surely did not help, but it was not that narrow.
Alessandro contemplated moving to the side -- but without an obvious reason, the other two would just get suspicious. Lorenzo grinned as if he knew.
"Your brother was being a dick. And don't call me that."
"Isn't he always?" Lorenzo laughed. Smooth like velvet and rich like expensive wines, perfect white teeth flashing charmingly. It was inviting, blue eyes glittering like merry waves on the brightest day of summer, drawing you in to laugh along. If Alessandro recalled correctly -- and he always did -- he was known as the 'unwinged cupid of Venice'. He disliked the masses' need to nickname anything and everything with their childish exaggeration. It made everyone sound ridiculously grandiose. The Shadow? A petty thief he'd catch sooner or later. The Reaper? A dirty murderer, taking lives for money. But Cupid didn't seem too much of a stretch.
"Isn't he your brother?" Alessandro's serious tone broke the ban. The investigator - ex-investigator, she had to remind herself - raised a dubious eyebrow.
"He is," Lorenzo shrugged and downed the entire cup of wine.
"They don't like each other very much," Giacinto offered.
"And whose fucking fault is that? Not mine, that's for sure," Lorenzo glared at the bottom of his empty cup as if it had personally insulted him. He twirled it in his hand, pursing his lips.
"So, hypothetically speaking, if I were to kill him would you stop me?" Giacinto asked.
Alessandro narrowed his eyes.
"Joking, watchdog, joking. Not everything I say is a confession." Giacinto rolled his eyes.
That was the thing with Giacinto. He could've told Alessandro the sky was green and the investigator would not be able to tell if was lying or not. Alessandro could read anyone like an open book. They always gave themselves away. But Giacinto? He was written in a different language entirely. Alessandro could observe until his eyes hurt and turn every sentence around for clues until his head spun -- he remained a mystery.
"Why don't we all be nice? Music, company, wine, what else would we need for a good evening?" Lorenzo waved his cup around the room. The wine wobbled dangerously at the action, threatening to spill over and stain his pristine white shirt.
