“Sadly,” Lorenzo said. “I have to travel light.”

The blade descended, cutting off Stephen’s head in one swift stroke. It rolled toward her, coming to rest a few feet away as his lifeless brown eyes stared into the dark heaven above.

Beatrice screamed as her father’s lips moved in one last silent prayer.

She heard Lorenzo walking toward her, and she stopped struggling when the pain caused her head to swim. She thought she was strong, but what use was her strength in the face of this monster? Lorenzo’s black dress shoes came to stop in front of her face.

She heard Giovanni’s voice in the back of her mind. “Survive… that is your victory…”

Lorenzo knelt beside her. He held the manuscript in his hands; Beatrice stared at it. It wasn’t as big as she thought it would be, no larger than a typical hardback, and not even as thick. The dull, leather cover was stained with her father’s blood. A single drop trickled down the side. It smeared when Lorenzo placed the manuscript in a large plastic bag and stuffed it in his shirt, securing it to his body as he ran a bloody hand through his blond curls.

“Oh”—he curled his lip as he saw the smeared blood on his fingers—“that’s disgusting. Good thing I’m going for a swim. Tell Papà I said hello, and I’ll see him later. I wish I could take you with me right now, but like I said, I am traveling light, so we’ll have to catch up later.”

“I hate you,” she spit out through bloody lips. “I hate you, I hate you. I’m going to kill you if it’s the last thing I do.”

“Do you think so?”

She couldn’t stop the sob that escaped her lips when she saw her father’s lifeless eyes. “You will die, Lorenzo, and I will make it painful. You will scream in agony.”

“So much anger,” he murmured. “It’s beautiful.”

“It is my only purpose in this life, do you understand me?”

He leaned down and left a lingering kiss on her cheek before he whispered in her ear. “I know you think that you’ll kill me, but I’m quite sure there will come a day when you will be putty in my hands. I’m quite looking forward to it.”

“Never.”

“Oh.” He stood and wagged a finger at her. “Never is a long time in our world, precious girl.” He winked before he ran and jumped into the river, sinking out of sight beneath its black currents.

“No!” she screamed in frustration before she caught sight of her father’s head again. “No, no!” She sobbed bloody tears as she continued to struggle against the blade that pinned her to the ground. The night was silent, marked only by the soft sounds of night birds and her own cries. A few moments later, she heard a rushing sound and Baojia leaned over her.

“No,” he groaned. “No, Beatrice. Not this.” His voice as pained as she had ever heard it.

“He killed my dad.” Beatrice couldn’t tear her eyes from Stephen’s head.

“Hold still, B. You’re going to be all right, but hold still.”

“My dad’s dead, Baojia.”

She heard him choke, but her eyes were still locked on her father’s staring face.

“Damn it to hell!” he yelled as he stood. “Hold still, this is going to hurt you again. You’re healing too fast.”

“It won’t hurt. I don’t feel anything anymore.” It wasn’t strictly true; she was beginning to feel twitching in her toes as her nerves knit together around the blade in her spine.

“I’m going to pull the sword out and it’s going to break your spine again, so just hold still.”

She finally looked up at him. His eyes were red and there was a deep cut around his neck, as if someone had cut his throat from ear to ear.

“What happened to you?”

He shook his head. Anguish. He was anguished. “It’s not important,” he whispered. “Hold still.” He gripped at the sword in her stomach, grasped it with both hands while his blood ran down, and pulled.

Beatrice screamed as her shoulders bucked up. She fell back to the earth with a thud, feeling the blood spill out beneath her again. Baojia tossed the sword away and came to cradle her head as she lay on the ground.

“Hold still, B. Please, hold still.” There was a gaping wound in her stomach where the sword had torn her abdomen, and she couldn’t feel her legs again. He stroked her hair back. “Shhh. Don’t move. Give your body time to heal.”

“Gio,” she whispered, aching for her mate. “I need...”

“Giovanni Vecchio!” Baojia screamed into the night. “Where are you?”

No sooner had he called out than she heard quick footsteps on the stairs and felt his familiar energy rush toward her. She looked up and saw him, pale face and furious eyes, cradling Tenzin in front of him.

“Take her,” Giovanni called to Baojia before he rushed over. Baojia gathered Tenzin in his arms, but she lifted a pale hand, reaching toward Stephen’s body by the riverbank.

Beatrice began crying again as Giovanni knelt beside her.

“My dad, Gio. He killed my dad.” She clutched at his shoulders as Giovanni cradled her in his arms and lifted her from the cold ground.

“Please, Tesoro, you need to go in the water.”

“My dad.”

“I know,” he choked out. “Tenzin collapsed in the library. I came as quickly as I could. I had to carry her.”