Chapter 15
LUCA
Ican’t believe I fucking fell asleep. My one job was to keep her safe, and I failed.
I woke up alone, reaching out to the cool, empty space where she should be, and my first reaction was to feel sad. Me, the big bad vampire, was about to cry into his pillow because some woman skipped out on him after a night of spooning.
Except, of course, she’s not merely some woman. She’s Rosa Capelli, and for whatever reason, blood spell or not, she is my woman.
She’s also a pig-headed pain in the ass who thinks she can take on the whole world alone.
A woman who is so used to relying only on herself that she can’t accept help.
I was hoping last night would have cured her of that, but it seems not.
When I find her, we are going to have a serious talk—even if I have to tie her up and gag her to make her listen.
My body responds to that image in predictable fashion. She might like being tied up and gagged a bit too much. I would certainly enjoy it.
I lift the drape and the screen to glance out the window and jump back at the sizzle of sunlight against my flesh. At least the sun is heading in the right direction—it will be dusk before too long, and I can handle that.
I’m pretty sure I know where she went—back to her precious apartment. She could be walking straight into a trap, and there’s nothing I can do about it. She could have been taken while I was still knocked out. The thought has panic rolling over me in wave after annoying wave.
Last night ended with her in my arms—warm and cocooned and safe, as she should be. I stayed awake and listened to her breathing and soothed her when she cried out. She was like a small animal burrowing into its den, its safe place.
I like the idea of being Rosa’s safe place a whole lot more than I should. It all felt so fucking natural. So undeniably right. And that terrified me. I was determined to stay awake all day if I needed to. To protect her. Epic fail.
I head into the bathroom and take in the aftermath of the night before.
The mirror above the sink is cracked, and all the little toiletries lie scattered around the tiles.
I picture her on her knees, her tongue on my cock, her palm cupping my balls.
My body heats as I recall how good it felt to sink myself deep inside her, to taste her blood on my lips.
I slam my fist into the wall, and it goes all the way through to the bedroom. Shit. Now I’ve made a mess of the hotel room and have blood oozing from my knuckles. I really need to get a grip of myself. Losing my cool will get us both killed.
I go and sit down on the bed that’s still drenched in the smell of her and reach out to her with my mind. The first time I did it was trial and error and good fortune, or maybe magic—who knows?
This time, all I get when I stretch out a mental line toward her is a big fat nothing.
I get so far and then I hit a barrier, and nothing I do seems to get around it.
It’s different from when she was drugged—there was nothing there.
This is a big solid no. Looks like the blocking thing works both ways.
“Rosa,” I growl aloud. “Let me in, right now!”
She doesn’t, and I give up. I already know how stubborn she can be. At least it means she’s safe and well enough to resist me. But I hate that she’s keeping me at arm’s length, even if I have only myself to blame.
Since she’s okay for the time being and I’m stuck here for a while longer, I finally do what I should have done hours ago—call Don Vincenzo.
The man owns me, and I can’t put it off any longer.
I was transformed by his sister Giulia, and I passed to him when he took over the family—which he did by persuading me to kill her.
I didn’t take a lot of persuading. The woman was depraved and cruel.
She imprisoned people within the walls of her home, held rigidly still in chains, tubes made of animal intestines inserted into their arteries.
The tubes were run into her chambers, and she’d suck from one whenever she wanted until the supply went dry—usually after weeks of agony for the unfortunate soul on the other end.
Even by our standards, it was harsh. Sometimes I can still hear their screams.
Once I was fully grown, she’d fuck me, use me however she wanted, and make me stay with her in her bed—listening to them beg and whimper and plead for someone to kill them, laughing at their agony.
When Vincenzo planned his coup, I was all in, and after it was done, I tore the walls of that room apart with my bare hands and killed every single human left alive behind them.
Vincenzo owned me then, and he owns me now. I am bound to him until he lets me go, which I’m guessing will be never. These days, he’s every bit as depraved as his sister was. Nobody was meant to live so long.
“Is she dead? Do you have her?” he asks as soon as he answers, his voice brittle, like fingernails down a chalkboard. I grimace at the sound of an agonized scream in the background and fight to stop myself from picturing whatever madness is going on there.
“Why do you want her?” I reply. He won’t appreciate the lack of respect, but I need information.
I need to know what the hell he has planned for her, if anything.
He hisses, and every cell in my body recoils.
His displeasure physically hurts me, but I suck it up.
If I carry on down this path, there’ll be plenty more to come.
“That is not your concern, boy. You have your orders. You kill her or you bring her to me—nothing more. Though I wonder why you ask,” he taunts.
“I wonder if the pretty little malocchio has caught your eye.” He pauses, and his voice deepens.
“I wonder if you understand the consequences of disobeying me.”
When he’s finished speaking, pain worms its way through my chest. My heart might beat slowly, but it still beats, and like any creature, once that stops, I stop. Vincenzo is silent, but I picture his smile as he rummages around in my rib cage. He enjoys this. Enjoys my pain.
I hold my hand to my chest, screw up my eyes against the agony.
I won’t give him the satisfaction. “I understand,” I say through gritted teeth.
The searing hurt abruptly ends, and I take a deep breath before continuing.
“I only ask because things are … complicated here. I don’t want to let you down.
Don Vincenzo, what do you know about the Capellis? About Tomasso Capelli?”
This could go either way—he could be intrigued, trust my judgment enough to hear me out. Or he could decide I’m being insolent and squeeze my heart until it explodes. I steel myself, but the silence stretches without any accompanying pain.
“He is old,” he finally answers. “He is Vecchissime. He is not what he seems. Why do you ask? We have heard the news about the Bianchi malocchio. In case you were curious, child, it was not us.”
By “us” he could mean the Firenzes, he could mean any of the Cosca families, or he could mean vampirekind in general. Impossible to know—and dangerous to push.
“What is he, then, if not what he seems?” I ask, aware that Tomasso Capelli is not some classic old granddaddy figure, some genial nonnino with a twinkle in his eye and candy in his pocket. Aware that there’s a lot more going on here than meets the eye.
“He is the head of a centuries-old Italian family. He has a small army at his fingertips and controls business interests all over the world. He moves in the shadows, though he pretends to be a creature of the light. He crushes all of those who oppose him and puts the needs of his own above all others,” Vincenzo answers, a hint of amusement in his voice now. “What does that sound like to you?”
“It sounds like a Cosca Don.”
“Sì, it does, doesn’t it? In all but name, it is.
I have been watching him for some time now, figlio mio.
Seeing the changes he has been making. Studying the way he moves pieces across the board, even when they don’t belong to him.
He is a man who will sacrifice anything, including their precious children. ”
I turn over his words. There’s more he isn’t telling me. He wants me to feel ten steps behind. He wants me to try and catch up before he deigns to carry on. Everything’s a power play with Vincenzo.
“Anna Lombardi,” I finally say. It all makes sense. “He was the one who killed Anna Lombardi—and then stepped up to play peacemaker …”
“Exactly, Luca. He secured his preeminence among his own kind and gained the respect of ours by averting a war that he himself had started. It was bold—the work of a mastermind. I would very much like to pin him down, open his skull, and see what is inside his brain.”
I have no doubt he means this literally. This is a man who was born in the 1400s, and no amount of science will ever change him.
“He’s been fascinating to watch,” the Don continues.
“He has extended his power, overshadowed the other Vecchissime. He owns senators and congressmen and the heads of corporations. He even owns vampires, pays them to do his bidding. What do you think would happen if the Capellis were the only Vecchissime family left?”
“The same that would happen if the Firenzes were the only Cosca left. There’d be a power vacuum, and you’d move in and take control. Of everything.”
Blood feuds, greed, brutality, power grabs—those are all things I understand.
Things I grew up with. Men like Vincenzo and Tomasso do not think the way others do.
They are never content, never happy, and are constantly searching for more.
Looking for avenues to gain, to take, to expand.
And if the Capellis end up as the strongest of the Vecchissime families—the only one with a viable Seer bloodline—then that would put Tomasso at the top of a damn tall tree.