36. The Chosen One
Chapter 36
The Chosen One
H ouse of Draca
New Orleans
The Past
Little Lucio fought to hold back his tears. At only three years old, his mind struggled to comprehend the horrors he had witnessed. He alone dared to flee when their father, Don Vittorio, dragged a young, screaming woman into his bedroom to feed upon.
The four brothers were forced to watch how Father could mesmerize the terrified and make them crave the brutality he offered them before their deaths. The lessons were so traumatizing that the brothers’ only solace was each other. Domencio was more sensitive than the others. Lucio did his best to protect his twin, but sometimes fear got the best of him.
That night, his brothers huddled together in a corner. They clung to each other as they watched their father take another life and gift it to his Draca. Lessons that they’d endure for the rest of their formative years.
When Don Vittorio saw Lucio jump up and run, he let go a cackle of laughter—a sinister sound that reverberated in Lucio’s mind like the growl of the nightmare monster that lived in the evil Don. Panic drove Lucio through the house. He raced from hall to hall in a desperate search for an escape route.
Footsteps followed him, but Lucio knew they did not belong to his father. His father wouldn’t bother with pursuit; he’d simply materialize from smoke, overpowering him with ease. No, this was a servant—an obstacle Lucio had learned to evade. He darted down a shadowy corridor, dropped to his hands and knees, and crawled swiftly before veering left. There, he found a wall cabinet, just large enough for him to hide inside. He opened it carefully to avoid making noise, slipped in, and drew his knees to his chest. His heart pounded from both adrenaline and fear as he tried to steady his breathing and pretend to disappear.
“Lucio,” a voice called softly.
He squeezed his eyes tighter. He willed himself to be invisible.
“There’s no need to be afraid,” said the voice. It was gentle, unfamiliar.
“I won’t hurt you. I only want to help. Can you come out, please?”
Lucio opened his eyes, hesitant at first, he peered into the darkness that was trapped with him inside of the cabinet.
“Come out… come out… wherever you are.”
Torn between fear for his brothers and his terror over the dark, Lucio felt paralyzed. Everywhere around him, shadows loomed, and Maman Julia had taught him that monsters lived in the shadows, impossible to escape.
“Come…” the voice coaxed again.
Lucio’s tiny hand reached for the nail in the cabinet door. He remembered Maman Julia’s warning.
Be careful babe, tings in de dark bite!
Venetian, Las Vegas
Present
Marcello closed the lid of the coffin with a finality that echoed in the room. His brothers, Domenico and Sebastiano, stood silent, their faces drawn with regret.
“I thought…” Domenico began, his voice trailed off.
Marcello’s gaze was fierce. “For years, I begged you both for unity, for brotherhood. And yet, here we are. I’m no different from either of you.”
Domenico lowered his eyes. “He… I…”
“Why isn’t he healing?” Sebastiano asked, confusion and fear laced his words. “We didn’t kill him. We were stopped. He was alive when Father stepped him.”
“That wasn’t Father, you fool!” Marcello said. “Father is a feeble-minded, withering, bag of bones now. If it had been him, this would never have happened. It was Draquria. It intervened.”
“That’s not possible. Is it?” Domenico frowned.
“It doesn’t matter now. We need to get Lucio back to Rome. My people think… well, we were there and the graveyard dirt, the crypts from the feral, the dirt and bones in the crypts helped father. He sleeps in the coffin now, he has felt better. Maybe it can heal him, too. Help Lucio heal in the Vatican.”
“But what about the Guardians? The Sisters? The damn curse? We have solved nothing!” Domenico protested.
“Lucio made his choice, and now we face the consequences,” mumbled Sebastiano.
“If Lucio dies, if father dies, then… what?” Domenico asked.
“I don’t know,” Marcello admitted. “I don’t know why he can’t heal. I don’t have the answers!”
The door opened. Phoenix and Raven entered.
“Leave us,” Sebastiano commanded.
Raven hesitated, but Phoenix kept with his approach, eyes shifting from the coffin to Marcello.
“Things got out of hand,” Marcello confessed. “We sentenced him to true death.”
Phoenix’s brow arched in question.
“He’s not dead,” Domenico muttered. He looked weepy, and the brothers weren’t sure why. Domencio had waited and plotted for this day. He retreated to a chair and dropped on it.
“He’s not healing, either. I’ve tried grave dirt, but nothing has changed. Before we finished him, Father spoke. Not Father—his Draca. It stopped us.”
Phoenix nodded respectfully. “We need to take him to Rome.”
“Rome?” Sebastiano echoed.
“You are brothers, bound as four. What you’ve done has torn the fabric of the Fratelli. You’ve violated your covenant with each other. That rip has weakened you all.”
“Bullshit! He’s not dead! We didn’t kill him!” Domenico insisted, and his voice was clogged with emotion. “Lucio can’t die. That’s the gag. No matter what, he is the one, the special one. He betrayed father! Had that woman for possibly months before telling us, lied to us, when he could have saved Father? He is no fallen hero. He’s not dead!”
“You’re all undead. Death claimed each of you at thirty. What you’ve done is far worse. You’ve sentenced him to a true death. Lucio understood the stakes. He remained devout. Where were you, Domenico, while he sought a cure for your father? Hundreds of young daughters of Julia Brown fed to you. Did any of you join the hunt? Aid him in any way? And you, Sebastiano?”
“Watch your fucking mouth, Consiglieri. We don’t answer to you,” Domenico snarled.
Phoenix bowed his head again. “I speak the truth only out of concern.”
Marcello paced. “Phoenix’s right. We don’t even know the extent of our actions.”
“We know the prophecy. Our brother cannot heal because his Draca is dying. And that is possibly what Draquria wants. To take Lucio and then the prophecy is fulfilled…” Sebastiano’s voice faltered.
Phoenix's gaze slipped over to him and then to Marcello. He didn’t offer any further counsel to either. He focused on Domencio with keen interest.
“The rebirth,” Domenico whispered. “It could be Lucio, but if he dies, then it’s me.”
“Lucio will not die!” hissed Marcello.
“He’s half-dead already,” Domencio said.
“It was always a possibility,” Sebastiano acknowledged grimly.
“We need to stop it. Where are the women?” Marcello asked.
“We have one guardian at the Bellagio. The others are with the First People in the desert,” Phoenix replied.
“We divide and conquer. Sebastiano and I will take Lucio to Rome. Phoenix, you and Domenico retrieve the women. Kill the guardians and bring the sisters. Where the fuck is Shakespeare?”
Domencio just sat in the corner, silent, fuming.
“Consider it done,” Phoenix said with a nod.
Marcello approached the coffin. He rested a hand on its surface with love. “Don’t worry, brothers. We will atone. Lucio, we’ll fix this. We must.”
Scarlet Hall
The Past
Lucio peeked out from the cabinet, his eyes met those of a tall man with emerald-green gems for eyes and vibrant red hair like fiery flames. He looked mystical and odd, but a comforting presence in the house of horrors that was now Lucio’s world.
“I am Phoenix, your father’s magistrate,” the man said, stooping to extend a hand. Lucio took it, and Phoenix helped him to his feet. “Why did you run and hide, Lucio?”
“I miss my Maman…” Lucio whispered.
“Ah, Julia Brown. You think she’s your mother?” Phoenix asked with gentle curiosity.
Lucio nodded. “My Maman.”
“Come, let me show you your real mother,” Phoenix offered.
Confused but eager to escape the darkness where his brothers remained trapped, Lucio clung to the tall stranger’s hand as they walked together. They traversed a corridor with crimson walls, the color deep red and unsettling.
“Have you ever been here?” Phoenix inquired.
“No,” Lucio admitted. Fear had kept him and his brothers from exploring this new, daunting world.
“This is Scarlet Hall, named by your father in tribute to your mother. This is how you show love. See? There she is.”
Phoenix released Lucio’s hand. He allowed him to walk down the hall alone. On one side were portraits of a woman—his mother, Phoenix claimed.
Young Lucio studied each painting, mesmerized by his own mother’s beauty, feeling a warmth from her he hadn’t known he was missing. On the opposite wall, paintings depicted her with his father, their smiles suggesting the happiness of a family.
“Scarlet Hall,” Lucio murmured. He stuck his thumb in his mouth, a smile breaking across his cherub face. Here, amidst the terror and confusion of his new world, was a glimpse of the world he belonged to—a world where he could be able to feel the love he needed in that moment.