Internally I screamed and cursed the goddess of missed opportunities. I was about to leave when I noticed a strange tattoo inked onto his forearm. A pawprint clutching what appeared to be a fennel stalk. My gaze fell to the side of his food cart—the same symbol was painted there. I’d been wrong. I’d never seen it in my sister’s diary. I’d seen it the day Wrath and I had tried to get close to investigate the murder of Giulia Santorini. My breath caught as it finally clicked into place. Signore Nucci was a shape-shifter.

I swallowed hard, and slowly dragged my attention up. Domenico Senior noticed me staring at his tattoo, and hastily rolled his sleeve back down despite the heat of the day.

His reaction set off warning bells.

I thought back to my sister’s diary. All it had said was Domenico Nucci. There had never been a mention of junior or senior . . .

“It’s you,” I said, dropping my bag of panelle. “Vittoria wrote your name in her diary. It’s never been Domenico Junior. Did you hurt her? Did she find out what you are?”

“It’s not—don’t shout those kind of accusations around. Give me a second.”

Domenico flipped the stand’s sign to closed, and motioned for me to follow him around the corner where there was less foot traffic. I didn’t want to leave the crowds, and he seemed to know that. He stopped where we were still surrounded, but couldn’t be overheard.

“Your sister passed out drinks at Greed’s gambling den.”

My heart beat wildly. Finally, after all this time, I had another hint about what Vittoria had been up to right before she was killed. “And? Did she know what you are?” He nodded. “Did you ever see her with Greed?”

“Yeah. She came to him one night with an idea. They were working on a plan they both felt comfortable with.”

“How did you get involved in all this?” He didn’t seem inclined to respond, so I pulled the knife I’d hidden in my bodice and let the sun glint off the blade. I’d learned a good many tricks from the demon of war. “One way or another I will get my information, signore. The choice is up to you on how we go about it.”

“All right, all right.” He swallowed hard and glanced around. “You know about the benandanti.”

I nodded. Everyone did. “Shape-shifters, in a sense. Their spirits change into animal forms to astral travel four times a year. They also fight in the Night Battles.”

“Well, that’s what the benandanti are. We’re not them, but they have taken on our symbol so we’re often confused. We can physically shape-shift whenever we please. We’re called Ember Wolves. The benandanti are human, we are not. At least not entirely. Most would say we’re werewolves.”