The knife slipped between the silver-haired viper’s ribs as though her skin were soft butter.
“Giani,” she gasped as the blade sank deep, “you traitorous bastard.”
“I learned from the best,” he whispered against her ear. “At least you gave me that.”
“They’ll eat you alive.”
“That’s where you’re wrong, mother. That’s where you’ve always been wrong.”
Cecilia spat blood as the blade, inserted so carefully, was ripped maliciously from her breast, her son’s weight lifting from the bed.
Eyes glazing, she cried, “Anton—”
“Was a better father than you were ever a mother,” Giani snarled. “Give him my best.”