Fratelli: Eternal Bloodlines (The Vampire Cartel #2)

56. The End of the Beginning

Chapter 56

The End of the Beginning

A ventino

Roma, Italy

April 22, 2018

Outside Vatican City, an exclusive commercial district thrived. I catered to the wealthy, the elite. Aventino was known for its high-end shopping, fine dining, and the residents who demanded that their affluence be reflected in everything around them. Eclectic yet refined, they appreciated architecture, and history, but only when it served as a backdrop to their wealth. Sebastiano was the perfect fit for such a place. He and Raven had chosen a cliffside residence, where beneath the polished exterior, they built hidden caverns and dark chambers. Here, their forbidden appetites were concealed from the judgment of society.

Sebastiano sat in stillness, his home empty despite guests. The loss of Raven and those he loved had hollowed him out, leaving him in a despair so deep that not even his exotic pets—creatures that roamed the shadowed halls—could provide comfort. He stared into his goblet of blood, lost in his own torment. His thoughts circled back to Raven with every heartbeat. Nothing could reach him. Not even the others, who had retreated to his home after Lucio and the Chosen twins vanished.

Allies might have surrounded Sebastiano, but he was utterly alone.

On the far end of the room, Domencio stood before a towering 200-foot screen, fixated on a news broadcast. The headlines called it an earthquake—the largest Roma had ever experienced. Aid was arriving from Turkey and Greece to help locate the victims. But Domencio knew the truth. The battle in Vatican City had unleashed more destruction than they had noticed. While church bells had tolled warnings to evacuate, the vampires and guardians had been too absorbed in their fight to consider the mortal lives lost in the chaos.

Marcello remained at the Vatican, locked in conversation with the Pope. Domencio and Sebastiano had sent the consiglieri and their companions to annex in Sebastiano estate, instructing them to hide out and wait.

“How did he die?” Sebastiano’s voice broke the silence.

Domencio glanced over his shoulder at his brother, who sat stroking his pet lizard, ignoring the blood offering freshly poured for him.

“You need to feed. When Marcello returns, we’ll need to find Lucio... and the women.”

Sebastiano’s bloodshot eyes lifted, rimmed with unshed tears. “How did he die? You said you left him in Vegas!”

“Are you insane? You saw Phoenix. You heard him. He killed Raven. He’s gone. Your lover is dead.”

Sebastiano shot to his feet, fangs bared, his fury a palpable force. “You mock my pain? I saw your lust for Darlene, the dark witch, the moment you returned! Don’t pretend you care for our brother. You only want her. You’ve always cared only for yourself. Raven was more than my lover. He was family. He was more of a brother to me than you ever were!”

Domencio’s fists clenched, but he swallowed his anger. Sebastiano’s words were barbed with truth. His brother had loved Raven, and everyone else, more than he had ever loved him. But it wasn’t until now that Domencio understood that the distance between them had been his own doing.

The door opened, cutting through the tension. Marcello stepped inside, his face grim, as though the weight of the world hung on his shoulders. He barely acknowledged the tension between his brothers, both still glaring, daring the other to speak first.

“It’s done,” Marcello said flatly.

The brothers turned to him, and saw him as if for the first time.

“The prophecy is fulfilled. The Supreme Draquria has won. He has Lucio. And the Chosen,” said Marcello who removed his cloak and gloves, dropping them as a servant appeared with fresh blood. He waved the offering away.

“No,” Domencio said, shaking his head. “We saw it. Darlene and Dolly united. They saved Lucio. They?—”

“Lucio took them,” Marcello interrupted, his voice hard.

“Took them where?” Sebastiano demanded.

“I don’t know,” Marcello admitted, rubbing his temples as though trying to push away a headache. “But according to the Pope, he’ll return. And when he does, the darkness will be greater than before. We need to prepare.”

He didn’t wait for a response. Instead, Marcello walked out, his retreat silent but final. He wanted to be alone.

Sebastiano sank back into his chair, absently stroking his lizard as the weight of Marcello’s words settled over them.

Domencio remained standing, watching his brother’s face tighten with grief. They were all mourning—each in their own way. Sebastiano for Raven. Marcello for his sense of betrayal. Phoenix had been more than a consiglieri to him; he had been a father figure, a friend. For a century, they had worked together, combining Marcello’s wizardry and ambition to advance technology and vampire society. To learn it had all been a lie had shattered his brother.

“Leave me alone,” Sebastiano muttered, staring into the fire. “Go fuck off somewhere.”

Domencio bit back a retort. He knew Sebastiano’s anger was only masking his sorrow. Without another word, Domencio turned and left the room.

He didn’t believe Darlene, Dolly, or Lucio were truly gone. The battle wasn’t over. He’d seen too much—the miracles, the underworld, even the death of Papa Legba. There had to be more. There had to be a way to bring them all back.

And he intended to find it.

Tristan lay in the dark chamber. He held Charmaine close as she slept, her tear-streaked face pressed against his chest. Earlier, they had made love, and she wept throughout. Even as she gave herself to him, offering her blood to make him whole, he could still feel her grief. The elevated levels of her pain mixed in with her light and seared him. He ached to heal her heart, to take away the burden she carried.

He kissed her brow softly and slid from the bed.

“Where are you going?” she murmured, half-awake.

“You need to eat. I’ll have a chef brought in, get you some food, clothes—things Sebastiano wouldn’t keep around,” he said with a small smile. “Woman's stuff.”

Charmaine chuckled in her weakness. “Woman's stuff?”

“Well, if you get your period, I can take care of that,” Tristan gave her a wicked wink.

Charmaine shook her head “You’re so nasty.”

“I’ll ask Sonya what she needs,” he offered.

Charmaine’s body stiffened. “Sonya?”

Tristan paused, pulling on his robe. “Or you can tell me what she likes.”

Her voice was softer, probing. “Tristan?”

He turned back toward her, eyes heavy with emotion. “Nothing has changed, Charmaine. You are my goddess. I feel nothing for Sonya.”

“Don’t lie to spare me,” she said. “I’m Liora too. I know what you feel for her. I know what we’ve done. I trust that you and Sonya would never betray me, but you heard Aries. You will be tempted. Don’t ever hide that temptation from me.”

His jaw tightened.

“I must hide it from myself.” Tristan sat on the edge of the bed, touched her leg. “I’m a vampire. Before that, I was a man of faith. You heard Aries say it. When I took you as my mate, that vow meant as much to me as the one I took before God. It’s the only true vow I’ve ever made since becoming what I am. Whatever I feel for Sonya, whatever darkness tries to tempt me away, it’s not going to win.”

Tristan’s eyes softened. “Because what I feel for you is the realest love I’ve ever known.”

Charmaine smiled through her lingering sadness. “I trust you, priest. Trust me, okay? I won’t break. If you ever need?—”

Before she could finish, Tristan dissolved into smoke, his physical form vanishing. Charmaine’s eyes fluttered shut as his essence wrapped around her, warm and intoxicating. It was as though his hands were everywhere—his mouth on her breasts, his lips between her thighs, while his phantom fingers caressed her face, deepening their connection with every touch. The sensation was overwhelming, electrifying, a spiritual and physical merging that left her breathless.

His body returned above her, and Tristan thrust into her with deliberate precision. Each movement sent them into a deep spiral toward pleasure, his love a tangible force she could feel in every pulsating grind of his body against hers. Charmaine clung to him, whimpering softly. Her lips brushed his as they shared whispered confessions of love.

Together, they reached the peak, their bodies collapsed into one another as the aftershocks of their passion rippled through them. Tristan kissed her brow, tender and possessive, his voice a hushed promise. “I love you, goddess. Only you. Nothing and no one will ever change that.”

Charmaine’s chest rose and fell beneath him as she traced his face with trembling fingers. “I love you too, Tristan. With all my heart.”

Sonya traced her fingers across Shakespeare’s chest. She absorbed the roughness of his scars and the stories of his savagery and bravery beneath her touch. They had healed, blending into his skin alongside his tattoos. She studied them. Each one told a story of pain and suffering over the loss of his mortal life.

“You need to eat,” Shakespeare murmured, his hand rubbed down her thigh, thrown over him her position allowed her warm sex to press into his hip.

“Not hungry,” she mumbled, and rested her head against his chest.

“You’ve given me too much blood to heal me. You need to eat. You’re still part mortal. Sebastiano’s not exactly going to cater to us here. I’ll get you what you need?—”

He tried to sit up, but she pressed him back down with her hand and power. She craved the connection to his pain, a feeling that tethered her to him. It kept the wanderlust at bay. That same restlessness threatened to stir something darker—urges for lustful acts with Tristan she didn’t want to understand.

“What is it?” Shakespeare asked.

“I just want to stay here,” she whispered. “You can drink more from me until I pass out. We can make love, if you want.”

“You’re absorbing too much,” Shakespeare said, concern in his eyes. He rolled her over and pinned her to the bed. Sonya closed her eyes. She sank into the pleasure of the pain. Her body writhed beneath him, lost in the wild thrill of his dominance. But Shakespeare denied her sex. Even the denial left her breathless and trembling. He found a robe on the dresser and slipped it on with a pair of gloves.

Sonya opened her eyes, surprised. “Where did you find those?”

“Vampires who walk in daylight always keep them nearby,” he said with a wink.

Her voice was soft, almost accusing. “So, you don’t want to touch me?”

“I want to touch you,” he said. “But we need control. You need to be stronger, put up some defenses. I’ve drained you, goddess. Let me heal you.”

She turned away from him, burying her face in the pillow. But as she closed her eyes, Tristan’s image flashed in her mind, unbidden and unwelcome. She shut the thought away, forcing herself not to dwell on it.

Shakespeare’s voice broke through the silence. “Why do you think of Tristan?”

Sonya sat up, startled. “What?”

“You pulled me into your thoughts, Sonya. I’ve seen them,” Shakespeare said.

She shook her head. Panic crept in. “No, I?—”

“Don’t panic,” Shakespeare said. “I’m not angry. I just want to understand.” He sat on the edge of the bed, his gaze steady. “Help me understand.”

Sonya drew her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around them. She pressed her forehead to her knees, trying to find the words.

“Help me understand,” Shakespeare repeated, softer this time.

“They found us. We were near dead, or dead,” Sonya said quietly, her voice distant. “Charmaine, Tristan, and Dolly. Some dark magic had tried to drag us into the underworld. I’m the Defender of Pain—Kaida. Charmaine couldn’t heal me, and neither could Dolly. Only Darlene has the dark energy to do that, but she and Dolly were separated.”

Shakespeare frowned; his tone cautious. “And Tristan?”

“He had to do it,” Sonya continued, her voice strained. “To heal me. So, I could wake and heal you. When I woke up, I was in his arms... and he... he mated me to him.”

Shakespeare’s eyes narrowed at the word mate .

“He had to,” she blurted. Desperation crept into her voice. “We would’ve been lost to the darkness if he hadn’t. He saved us both.”

Shakespeare’s voice dropped, quiet but intense. “What does it mean? Do you love him too?”

“Never!” Sonya reached for his hand, relieved when he didn’t pull away. She could see the raw hurt in his eyes. “I love you. Only you. I just need Darlene to come back. She can heal me of this blood link. I know she can.”

Shakespeare’s jaw clenched. “And Tristan?”

“He’s Liora’s mate. He belongs to Charmaine. He hasn’t reached out to me. He hasn’t called for me. He may not even be affected?—”

“That’s bullshit, goddess,” Shakespeare interrupted, his voice hard. “I know the effect you can have on a vampire like us. He tasted you. He’s affected.”

“Please, don’t—” Sonya pleaded.

“I’m not full of rage or jealousy anymore,” Shakespeare said, though his eyes betrayed the pain behind his words. “My ego cost me, Camille, destroyed Sophie. What I did to her... I can never atone for.”

Sonya cupped his face, lifting his chin until their eyes met. “No. That wasn’t you. I know who you are, and so does Sophie. The man inside, not the Draca. We are one, Shakespeare. Nothing can defeat us. Not Sophie’s ghost, not our curse. We’ll find Darlene and bring her back. She’ll fix this. She’ll fix me.”

Shakespeare’s face softened as he leaned in, kissing her with hope she didn’t feel she deserved. “I’ll never let you down, goddess. Never. But I must warn you, I will never let anyone take you from me. Ever,” he said.

Domencio didn’t bother to knock. He pushed open the door to his brother’s chamber and hesitated at the threshold. The room was thick with darkness and sorrow. It carried Marcello’s grief twisted in the shadows, coiled into rage. It was palpable, dangerous. Domencio tread carefully.

“Brother, may I speak?”

The door slammed shut behind him. Marcello, though younger, had mastered the coven’s dark tenants. A student of the ancient Draqurian arts, he understood their enemy better than anyone. His power was refined, barely contained by his elevated emotions.

“I was there. With Papa. In the end,” Domencio said, his voice steady despite the tension.

Marcello’s voice was ice. “Who killed him? Lucio’s witch?”

“Phoenix killed him,” Domencio lied smoothly, knowing full well the risk. If Marcello believed the twins had killed Vittorio, there would be no stopping the bloodbath that would follow. The guardians, the sisters—everything tied to the realm—would end in slaughter. The brotherhood would fracture beyond repair. And even worse was his own demise. Marcello would never forgive him for taking their father’s life. Domencio had to protect what was left of his family, even if it meant deception.

It was strange how the roles had reversed. He was the last one who truly understood the coven and the Fratelli of four. He knew how fragile it had become.

“I was there when Father fell,” Domencio continued. “Because of Phoenix’s dark magic, Darlene and I were cast into Julia Brown’s curse—into the dark realm—captive by Papa Legba.”

The shadows in the room shifted, and Marcello materialized from the darkness, his form solidifying. His expression was hard, unreadable.

“I’m listening,” Marcello said, his voice low.

“In the dark realm, Darlene faced Papa Legba. And she killed him.”

Marcello’s brow furrowed, skepticism in his gaze. “Impossible. There is no true death in the dark realm. It’s merely the gate to death.”

Domencio nodded. “I thought the same. But I watched her drain him.”

Marcello’s eyes narrowed. “She took his power?”

“She did,” Domencio said quietly. “Turned him to dust. And then she begged me to release her. Said if I didn’t, she’d become him—become the very thing she sought to destroy. She wanted to save Lucio, but to do she had to give up her physical form stolen from a shapeshifter and reunite with her sister, as the Chosen. They needed to face Draquria together.”

“How did you release her?” Marcello asked, his curiosity piqued.

“The same way we were cast inside,” Domencio said. “Through the magic you and Phoenix created. A gem. It was in Father’s house, a relic from the crown of the Guardian Mother. Darlene said it weakened all our powers and sped up the curse. Something Phoenix did to it reversed its powers to heal to darkness.”

Marcello’s expression saddened. “I helped tap into that power. We were supposed to use it to heal Father, not weaken him. Phoenix tricked me.”

“It made Padre vulnerable,” Domencio said. “It drove him mad. Phoenix used it to kill him.”

Marcello’s face went pale, his voice a whisper. “So... I killed Father?”

“No,” Domencio eyes stretched wide. He added quickly. “Not intentionally.”

Marcello’s eyes glazed over. He paced, his movements frantic. “I killed him. It was me. All these years, I wanted to be the one to save us, to prove we were more than the Draca. I thought I could cure him. And because of me, Phoenix destroyed everything. It’s my fault.”

“No, Marcello, you aren’t listening to me—” Domencio pleaded.

But Marcello was listening. His eyes were wild, his voice hollow. “I killed Father. I killed Father. Ho ucciso mio padre. ”

Domencio grabbed his brother’s arm. He forced him to stop pacing. “Focus. We’re not done. I think Lucio and the Chosen are trapped either in the dark realm, or somewhere worse. We need to find a way to release them. Can you do that? Do you know how?”

Marcello stared at him, his face blank for a moment before he retreated into the shadows, his form fading into the darkness of the room. Domencio let out a heavy sigh, his frustration mounted.

He did not know what to do next.