The moment blood soaked through the front of the loose singlet Rosalia was wearing, the blinding, violent rage clouding Giovanni's mind vanished instantly. His vision cleared, his breathing hitched, and his focus locked entirely onto her.

That was when he saw the jagged, razor-sharp piece of ceramic protruding from her chest.

"No..." he whispered, his voice cracking as he reached out to catch her staggering frame.

Behind him, Uriel stared in absolute, paralyzing horror. He looked at her pale face, then down at his own trembling hands, now covered in her wet, warm blood. He shook his head, stumbling backward in utter disbelief. What had he done?

A searing, unbearable...