Free Queen of the Night (The Revanche Cycle Book 4) by Craig Schaefer Page A

into Basilio’s throne like you earned it. What’ve you done to earn our respect? Nothing.”
    “That’s fair. Though to be frank, I inherited my father’s position after years of careful research. Studying you. Your organizations, your followers. Each and every one of you was stealing from my father, and for all his vaunted powers of insight, his fearsome control, he didn’t know it. But I did.”
    Clemente rested one hand next to his plate. Fingers brushing the hilt of a steak knife.
    “Well,” he said, glancing to the others. “I guess it’s out now.”
    Aita inclined her head. “It is. I needed a brief period of adjustment when my father died. Time to settle into his chair and feel the puppet strings of his empire around my fingers. Time to quietly make deals with the right people. I realize I may have looked a bit weak in the process. And to be fair, my husband has been a nagging thorn in all our sides. That wasn’t part of the plan.”
    Celso frowned at her. “Plan? What plan?”
    “Cleaning house,” Aita said. “I am my father’s daughter. If you’d known that, you might still be alive right now.”
    “What do you mean, still—”
    His words ended in a ragged gurgle as a blade punched through the back of his neck, spearing out through his throat. Her lieutenants’ right-hand men assaulted the table as one, brandishing daggers and truncheons, falling upon their former masters. A wooden club rained down again and again, spattering blood and bone across the table and soaking the ivory tablecloth crimson. Another man was wrestled to the ground, kicking and thrashing, a wire garrote slicing into his throat. Clemente tried to run and they hauled him to the floor, plunging daggers turning his back into raw hamburger.
    Aita gazed upon the slaughter with a polite smile on her lips, sipping from her glass of water.
    It was over as soon as it began. The killers—her new cabinet, the men she’d dedicated her time to forging quiet alliances with—shoved the last corpse to the marble floor and took their seats at the gore-streaked table. One sliced off a hunk of steak and lifted it to his fat lips.
    “Aw, Renzo,” his neighbor said, “that’s nasty.”
    “What?” He popped the meat into his mouth and chewed. “That’s just how I like my steak. Bloody .”
    Aita’s genial chuckle, like a crystal chime, rose above the laughter. She lifted her glass high.
    “Gentlemen, thank you for joining me in this bold venture. You’ve all lingered in the shadows of unworthy masters for far too long, your talents unnoticed and unappreciated. Together we’ll move this organization into a new, shining day.”
    One reached across the table and grabbed a bottle of wine with blood-sticky fingers. He threw back a swig, drinking straight from the bottle.
    “I’m your man, we all are,” he said, “but what about this barricade business? Nothin’ coming into the city, nothin’ going out at all—where’s the profit in a dead town?”
    “Nothing officially going in or out. I have Lodovico Marchetti’s ear, and his patronage. Where no open market stands, a gray market flourishes—and we will control that market. All the smuggling, all the underground trade. It’s ours to reap. The first thing we’ll do is divide territory—a much fairer distribution, and more profitable for each of you, than my father would have ever allowed.”
    “Good to hear,” another said. “But, ah, speaking of ears…I’m just gonna say it. What about your husband? He’s still out there, carvin’ up anybody who carries your banner. I’ll never refuse a proper brawl, but I didn’t sign up to deal with no maniac.”
    “I’ve been giving that a great deal of thought.” Aita’s fingertips absently brushed the scar on her cheek. “A great deal. Felix has a weak point: his lover, Renata. That’s what fuels him. That’s what we’ll use to bring him down.”
    “How? Last I heard, ain’t no bounty hunter can find hide nor hair of