I’ve Thanked You Once Already. Don’t Be Greedy.

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He’d lost his protector, his best friend, the only person besides his parents who actually cared for him. Loved him.

The shame hadn’t come until weeks later, when he was in the sitting room with Caterina and Lucanis, the only surviving members of House Dellamorte. Three of them were left out of hundreds. Most had been slaughtered in their beds, not even the children spared. Yet here they were, the First Talon and two of her grandchildren, the only ones the Maker deemed worthy of saving.

Or had it been luck that kept him from the assassin’s blade, his life worth only as much as his grandmother felt it was, Lucanis taking the mantle of her favorite now that her children were in the grave. Whenever Caterina turned her stern gaze on him in those early months, or caned him for misbehaving, or withheld food to punish him for failing one of his training sessions, Illario began to wonder if she hadn’t wished he’d died so that his sister could live.

Perhaps if he’d just thrown himself at Alessia’s assassin before the killing blow had landed, she’d have survived instead. Then she could have been the person subjected to Caterina’s torture, and in the end, Illario knew his elder sister would’ve been the better assassin as well.

There was also the loneliness to contend with.

Not a single touch since his childhood had been out of love. Convenience, perhaps, but there was no kindness in Caterina, only punishment when he didn’t live up to her expectations. The violence, death, the occasional sexual advance with a stranger (or a contract) and the resulting climax… none of it meant anything. No one meant anything. 

What would Alessia think of him now? To see him in such a state? Betraying his family for power, for an modicum of respect.

Illario remembered the first time he’d asked Caterina about the slaughter. About the how and the why. And specifically, why Alessia had died for him. His grandmother had only stared down at him with those hawk-like eyes, almost as if the question disgusted her. As if he disgusted her. 

He remembered the exact moment she glanced away from him, gaze fixed on the portrait of his family. His parents sitting upon the fancy settee that still sat in the receiving room, Alessia nestled between them with those multicolored eyes, the same ones that had haunted his childhood nightmares. A baby Illario was cradled in his mother’s arms, sleeping as the artist finished the painting.

When Caterina finally spoke, his heart broke for the final time, his entire future decided in a single terrible moment.

Alessia made a mistake. It was she who was meant to rule House Dellamorte after my death. Not protect a helpless child who can barely hold a knife.

No, perhaps Illario shouldn’t have survived, but he had. And he’d vowed to one day prove Caterina wrong.

And with the help of the Venatori, he would.

The cemetery was eerily quiet, not even the usual carrion haunting the grounds. There was a slight breeze in the air, but even as it shifted the leaves of the trees overhead, not a sound reached his ears. Death had never scared Illario once he’d become a Crow. In fact, he reveled in it most days. But this… this was harder than it had any right to be.

The wisteria tree he’d planted nearly fifteen years before was in full bloom, it’s petals scattered along the ground in front of the headstones, violet against the dark green of the grass. It’s scent tickled his nose, a reminder of freer days when he, Alessia, and Lucanis would roam the gardens of Villa Dellamorte while their parents handled Crow business. Picking wisteria blossoms and tucking them into their hair or behind their ears, pretend sword fighting with the branches, laughing loudly as they took their bruises and scrapes.

He hadn’t felt that free in a long time.

Kneeling before the thick stone, Illario reached out to brush some ivy from its face, the names etched there haunting him as much as their memories did.

Se saprai ricordarmi, sarò sempre con te.

Valerio Dellamorte Francesca Cantori Dellamorte Alessia Dellamorte

With a finger, he traced over Alessia’s name carefully, the stone rough where it touched his skin. As much as he’d wished it as a young boy, his relationship with Lucanis, his dearest cousin, didn’t even compare to the one he’d lost with Alessia. And it’d made him bitter. Made him angry. Each time he tried to prove to Caterina he was as capable as Lucanis, he failed time and time again. 

No matter how hard he tried, she never hesitated to express her disappointment and level her comparisons.

His eyes stung as his mind conjured an image of his sister, her hooked nose and raven colored locks nearly the same as his and yet, it was those heterochromatic eyes that always dazzled: one eye as blue as an ocean, the same color he possessed himself. The other was a deep brown, dark almost like a fresh cup of coffee, and though it appeared that many of the born Dellamorte possessed this color of iris, Alessia Dellamorte had been the only one born with two different colored eyes.

A tear rolled down his cheek, as much a weakness as the affection that still squeezed his chest at the thought of his family, and he wiped it away with the back of his hand. Then he placed one of the fallen wisteria branches, full of blooming flowers, at the base of the headstone, a tribute to a family who still lived on his heart nearly twenty years after their deaths.

But he was still failing them.

Tears blurred his vision as he read the headstone engraving again, knowing deep in whatever was left of his soul that if any of them were alive now, they’d condemn him for what he planned to do. Because he was tearing what was left of his family apart.

And he didn’t care.

“Alessia, I hope one day when we meet again, you are able to forgive me for what I’m about to do.”

With one final look, he got to his feet, dusted the dirt from his pants, then turned away, heart hurting and stomach sick. But he continued on, one foot in front of the other, towards the future he deserved.