Page 12 of Bloodlust

I suppress a snort. “But can we trust Enzo not to fuck me over?”

“My father voted for you,” Zoey says. “All the Di Rossis did.”

“We don’t know that for certain,” I state, walking to the kitchen. “Your family could be lying.”

Zoey’s young, naive; she doesn’t understand. It’s unprecedented to have a woman lead the family. But the Biancos and Di Rossis made a truce decades ago.

No more slaughter. No more blood.

But a truce is only as strong as the family who keeps it. And the Di Rossis are weaker than us.

Weakness breeds contempt.

And with Leo back?

Contempt and opportunity collide.

“They’re not!” Zoey insists, frustrated as she sitsdown by the island. “Cami, you need to have some faith in us. We’re in your corner, I promise.”

Promises. Another lesson I learned. Don’t make them. Don’t believe them. Don’t chase them.

A promise is a nightmare masquerading as a dream.

I don’t dream anymore. Haven’t for years. He wanted me to keep my eyes open. And I have. For 1,825 days. My eyes never close.

They can’t.

“Really?” I take a second mug out from the cabinet and place it on the wooden counter. “What about your brother?” I pour Zoey a cup of coffee from my French press, peering up at her as I add, “He broke into my house last night.”

“What?” Zoey blinks. “Leo was here? How did he get in? How did he?—”

Silly girl.

“Good question.” I scan her flustered face as I slide over the mug. “Howdidhe get in?”

Zoey bites her lip, tapping her short nails on the counter. “Maybe he paid off Norman?”

“My doorman doesn’t have a death wish, Zoella,” I state, running through the CCTV footage again in my mind. Trust is so hard to come by these days. “Try again.”

“Umm...” Zoey’s breathing quickens. “Maybe he, uh—maybe he followed someone else inside and, umm...broke the lock?”

“He had a key,” I say, grabbing an apple from the fruit basket. I set it down on the counter, pulling a chef’s knife from adrawer. I stare at my assistant, her face pale. “Where would he get a key?”

“I don’t know,” Zoey whispers, her voice trembling. “Maybe?—”

“Only two people have a key to my apartment,” I note, slicing the Granny Smith in half. “Frankie, who was with me all night...” I pause, regripping the knife as I meet Zoey’s glossy eyes. “Andyou.” I tilt my head. “Where were you last night?”

“I was with...” Her voice fades into nothing.

“With?” I prompt. “Go on.”

“I was with Leo,” she breathes. “We had dinner but…” She shakes her head fervently. “Cami, I didn’t?—”

Her scream pierces the charged air as I raise the knife, slamming the blade on the counter, the tip slicing into the wood between her fingers. “Oh my God,” she wails, hand trembling. “Cami, I?—”

“If you ever go behind my back again, Zoella, it’s going to be your heart on the other side of that blade. Is that clear?”

“I didn’t give it to him,” she cries, wringing her hands together. “I’m sorry, Cami. I was so stupid. I—I left to go to the bathroom, and he must have looked through my purse or something. I don’t know, I didn’t?—”