Chapter 18
ROSA
We stay in the motel for the rest of the day, making plans, talking through our options, and coming to the conclusion that they’re all crap.
The net is closing in on us. It doesn’t matter that I haven’t used credit cards or an ATM or my old phone that was lost the night of the party at Tomasso’s.
If my grandfather—god, I really need to stop calling him that—is using vamps, then it’s not a big leap from that to one of them questioning Brian or Jed.
They will charm him, and it won’t take long before Brian remembers that I talked to him about the van.
That I disappeared with a big tattooed dude with burns on his face who was carrying my brother in his arms.
It doesn’t matter that we have Pietro. My brother thinks Tomasso is entirely dependent on him for tech support, and to some extent, I’m sure that’s true. Tomasso is not a fan of technology. He sees it as necessary but vulgar.
But Pietro is not irreplaceable, and Tomasso is a Maker. He is practical, good at logistics, at seeing connections and finding creative solutions. He will recruit someone to help him, and from what Luca has been telling me, he has more resources than I imagined.
I wouldn’t ordinarily accept the word of a vampire Don like Vincenzo, but what he told Luca makes sense.
Tomasso has always been deeply immersed in the business side of our family—not only in making money, but in building his empire.
Expanding his legacy. It’s one of the reasons he was so set on me producing an heir.
He was eager to share all his toys with the next generation of Capellis.
Now I understand a little better why he’s so obsessed with security, why he lives the way he does.
Why he has more guards than the rest of the Vecchissime put together.
He’s been making moves, causing ripples, quietly stretching out his influence.
Personally, I think he’s a greedy, egocentric asshole, but I’m sure he’s justified it all to himself as being “for the family.”
I wonder when it all started—when he made himself the hero of his own territorial fantasies.
Prior to Anna’s murder, obviously, but how much earlier?
When Serena and I were born and he realized he had a double-whammy chance at getting two brand-new Capelli Seers?
Before that? No fucking clue, and I don’t suppose it matters.
It is what it is, and looking backward will get us nowhere.
At least, I think as I watch Luca get some shut-eye, I’m not doing this entirely alone.
It’s a complicated situation, and whenever I let myself think too much, I realize I shouldn’t trust him.
I should be cautious and not let myself get in too deep.
What I feel for him clouds my mind and clouds my body, and it clouds the whole way I see the world.
He is lying on the bed, limbs splayed, bare chest on display as he rests.
One thigh is uncovered, thick with muscle, and one bare foot peeks out.
For some reason, the bare foot undoes me, and I walk over to kiss his forehead.
He barely moves, only lets out a small murmur as my lips touch him.
It’s sweet—which is definitely not a word I thought I’d ever use about a man like him.
I cover him with the sheets and go into Pietro’s room.
He’s still asleep, as he has been for hours now, but it’s time for him to wake up.
I shake him by the shoulders and have to smile as he gradually comes to consciousness.
He was never a morning person. Mama had to go and do this exact thing every day, at least an hour before he needed to leave for school.
She ruffled his hair and called him her little sleepyhead, and he pleaded for ten more minutes.
Everything has changed since then, of course. For starters, she’s dead.
“Rise and shine, baby bro! Luca tells me you’re doing well—even managed a few words?”
He croaks out a dry laugh, and I wonder what those words were. Given the way the two men feel about each other, they probably weren’t polite ones. He wipes the crusts of sleep from the corners of his eyes. “Huh,” he says. “I can move my hands now. That’s new.”
“That’s vamp blood for you. Plus, you know, your own. What about your legs? Do you think you can walk?”
He concentrates and grunts and eventually sighs. “No dice. I can’t even feel them. Which is bad, because I really need to take a piss.”
“You want me to help you to the bathroom or leave you with a bottle?” I really hope it’s the latter. I am so not up for seeing his dick again. Or ever.
“Bottle will do fine. What’s the plan?”
“Glad you asked. I’m about to sneak out and steal a car. I’m thinking soccer-mom style—big enough for you to lie down, but nothing that stands out. Then, when Luca wakes up from his power nap, we pile in for a road trip.”
“Where are we going?”
“New York, New York.”
I stay quiet as he tries to solve the puzzle. “He’s Cosca, isn’t he?” he finally says. “And if it’s New York, then it’s Firenze. And if it’s Firenze, it’s Don Vincenzo, and he’s a monster! The stories about him …”
I frown, surprised at how quickly he got there—and his knowledge of Don Vincenzo. His brain works at the speed of a microchip, but I had no idea my brother’s world included all of this.
“Right on all counts. Why do you know this and I don’t?
” Young Seers are taught the basics of vampire history and lore to help us better understand our potential allies and enemies.
But the Coscas were not on the syllabus.
Or it’s possible I was asleep that day—I wasn’t the most dedicated student.
Since then, like Donatella, I haven’t needed to know more.
Their ability to coexist allows them to fly under our radar.
“Because it wasn’t relevant, I suppose. The Coscas don’t trouble us. They play the game, obey their own rules, stay in their lane. Except their lane is pretty fucking big, includes some deeply shady shit, and makes billions of dollars each year.”
He glances up at me. “Tomasso was fascinated by them, had huge files on them all, and I picked up some stuff along the way. Look, I know you’re hung up on this Luca guy, but you need to be careful. Don Vincenzo is not to be messed with, and if Luca belongs to him, then neither is he.”
Too late. I’ve messed with him in all kinds of ways already. “What do you mean, ‘belongs’ to him?” I ask, the word leaping out at me.
“Okay, so I’m no expert, but as I understand it, there are different levels of service within the Coscas. You know the human Mafia?”
“Only from The Sopranos.”
He laughs, and the sound makes me smile. Old instinct.
“Right. Well, forget about that. So in a Cosca, the Don is the chief—the head of the fucking snake. Then he’ll have a counselor, who is usually swapped in from a different clan at birth.”
“Swapped in at birth?”
“Yeah. Don’t ask me why—something to do with them having clearer eyes, not being weighed down by family history, whatever. Then there’ll maybe be family members—in Vincenzo’s case, a daughter—either adopted or biological, if that small miracle has happened.”
It’s extremely rare for vamps to have natural children—technically possible, but hugely against the odds. I don’t know what those odds are, though. A million to one? A thousand to one? Jeez. I should probably find out more about that, given the circumstances.
“Then under that,” he continues, oblivious to my little side panic, “there’ll be a second-in-command, and the second will have their own people, and on and on it goes, right down to the foot soldiers.
The big guys, the ones near the top? They’re usually raised in it.
Sold and sworn in as kids. Sometimes before then. ”
I drink in this new information and try to imagine the messed-up world Luca grew up in. The night we met, which feels like forever ago, he mentioned that his birth mother was a maid who sold him. Now I have an idea what he was sold into.
“So, like, he could be bought out?” I ask.
“No clue. But if he’s high enough in the chain, he’ll be sworn in blood to the Don. You can’t trust him, Rosa.”
I stare at my brother, with his too-long sandy hair and dark circles beneath his tired eyes, and wonder if he sees the irony of his words. If he realizes how hypocritical it is for him to lecture me on who I can trust after what he tried to do.
He looks away, stares at the ceiling, and I guess the answer is yes, he does.
I pass him a water bottle and leave him to it. I have a car to steal, and I really need to get some fresh fruit. My insides are starting to feel like a chemical plant. I didn’t think it was possible to get tired of candy, but I am learning new things about myself every day.
I pull up the hood of my jacket and jog into town. Before long, I see signs of suburban life—a gas station, a small retail park with a few big-box stores, three different businesses offering dog grooming. They must really love their dogs here.
Eventually, I slow to a steady walk—a young woman finishing up her morning run—and pause in the doorway of a closed Irish pub. I fish out one of the burner phones and dial Donatella’s number.
I don’t care what Luca thinks; I trust her. I have to trust someone. There’s no answer, so I leave a message. “Hope you’re on your way. I’ll keep this on. Find me, and don’t tell Tomasso anything, especially where Paola is.”
Job done, I stop at a small grocery store that has crates of apples, pears, and potatoes outside—“Fresh from the Farm” according to the handwritten sign.
I scoop up a few pieces of fruit and head inside to pay. On my way out, my amulet flares to life. I sniff the air and try not to react as I pick up an unfamiliar scent.
Not wanting to appear spooked, I take my time strolling down the street, eating my juicy apple, window shopping, and going into a small coffee shop for a latte. All the time, I subtly check reflections in the storefronts.