Jarek made a beeline for our table and took a seat on the other side of the throne. Two of his guys sat next to him, the other two stood behind him. Barabas had given us a basic rundown on Kral’s people. This was his inner circle: two brothers with the last name Guba, a middle-aged bald man who looked like he could run through solid walls, and Renok, Kral’s second-in-command, a tall shapeshifter in his midthirties with a boxer’s jaw contoured by a short dark beard.

Jarek looked at Curran. “I see you grew up, boy.”

Did he just call Curran boy? Yes, he did.

“I see you grew old,” Curran said. “You look smaller than I remember.”

“I’m still big enough for you.”

“You never were, and now you never will be. You’re getting on, Jarek.”

“Last time I wanted to kill you, but you had Wilson with you. Now you’re all alone. I will kill you this time.” Jarek smiled, a controlled baring of teeth.

Curran smiled back. “I wish you’d scrape enough balls together to try. I’m already bored.”

If Jarek managed to provoke Curran into physical violence, the fault would be with Curran. Even if Curran won, we’d have to go home empty-handed and Desandra likely wouldn’t live long enough to give birth.

The Belve Ravennati entered the room and took their seats on the left side of the horseshoe. Aunt B waved at Isabella. Isabella studiously ignored her. Her two sons sat by her. The Italian brothers looked very similar: both dark-haired, both with intelligent, sharp eyes and a carefully shaped sprinkling of dark stubble on their jaws. The taller, leaner one had striking eyes, pale hazel and framed with dark eyelashes. They stood out in sharp contrast to his nearly black hair. The other was shorter, more compact, with dark eyes. One of them was Gerardo and the other Ignazio, but I couldn’t remember which was which. I couldn’t recall which had married Desandra either, but I was pretty sure the shorter of the brothers was the one who got slapped.

I leaned over to Desandra. “Which one is the father?”

“The handsome one,” she said, her voice filled with mourning.

Thanks, that helps a lot. “Hazel eyes or brown?”

“Hazel. Gerardo.”

So the shorter, slapped one, was Ignazio.

A moment later the Volkodavi came through the right exit and took their seats on the right side of the horseshoe. Good idea. Minimized the chances of them lunging across the table at the Belve Ravennati and trying to murder each other with their forks.

People were taking their seats. The dinner was about to start.

“You’re not fit to sit at this table,” Jarek said.

Round two.

“Make me move,” Curran said.

“You’re nothing. You will always be nothing,” Jarek said. “Weak like your father.”