47. The Last Day Before Night
Chapter 47
The Last Day Before Night
V atican City - Syracuse
April 20, 2018
(Day Before Death)
“ Pápa, dove sei? ” Domencio’s voice blew through the suffocating stillness of the villa. Shadows shifted and changed along the walls as he passed. The once grand estate had been hollowed out. No mortal ever entered unless dragged inside. An echo of its former self. He felt the weight of loneliness in the darkness. And loneliness has been with him for some time.
“ Pádre ? It’s me, Domencio,” he said. He had grown tired of the search.
No answer.
The cellar beckoned. Its stone steps descended into darkness. He hesitated. He gripped the railing. Memories of the cellar’s horrors stirred in his gut. This was no place for children then, and certainly no place for his father now. But he descended anyway.
The smell hit him first—thick, metallic, nauseating. A stench that spoke of death, old blood, and despair. His inner child shivered as he brought the handkerchief to his face. He was a boy again, frozen at the top of these very steps, fearing the monsters his imagination had conjured from past trauma.
A body lay at the base of the stairwell, discarded like trash. The skin was pale and slick with blood. Domencio stepped over it. As he ventured deeper, the flicker of a single torchlight revealed the extent of the carnage. Bodies—dozens of them—scattered across the floor like broken dolls, their limbs twisted at grotesque angles, flesh torn from bone. Some were headless, others missing arms or legs. The feeding of the great Don had been brutal.
A snarl echoed in the distance. Low. Feral. Domencio clenched his jaw and reached for the predator within him to strengthen him. He raised his hand and ignited all the torches along the walls with a sharp flick of his wrist. It cast harsh light into the cavernous cellar.
Vittorio.
His father crouched over a corpse, face smeared with blood, eyes wild, distant. He was no longer the revered Master Vampire of his prime, the one who commanded respect with a glance. Now, he was something… else. Domencio felt his chest tighten, the breath all but left his lungs. He had not expected this. Not this madness.
“Father?” Domencio’s voice trembled despite himself.
Vittorio’s head snapped up, his bloodied face a mask of confusion. He sniffed the air like an animal and searched for him by scent.
“Domen…Domencio?” his thick accented voice croaked.
Domencio forced himself to move, to do something. In silence, he stepped forward, careful not to disturb the bodies that littered the floor. Without a word, he reached for his father and pulled him to his feet. Vittorio, lost in whatever fractured reality he occupied, did not resist. His once mighty hands trembled, stained with blood that was not his own.
Domencio took him out of the hell he created, and back into the barren home he and his brothers left him too. The guilt of Vittorio’s abandonment weighed heavy on him, just as Lucio’s plight tormented him. So, he did what he had never done before. He tried to make amends. Domencio cleaned his father. Bathed him. The act was almost surreal as if the grotesque cellar were miles away. He dressed his father in fine clothes, sat him in his favorite chair, and filled the room with the soft strains of opera, the familiar voice of his father’s beloved singer. Vittorio relaxed into it, as though the music alone could pull him from the edge of his madness.
For hours, they spoke. Vittorio’s voice was steady and lucid, as he told stories of the Roman Senate, of old wars, fierce gladiators, and the victories that had made him a legend. He even spoke of Domencio’s mother, the one subject that had always been off-limits. It was the first time Domencio had heard him mention her, the story of how they met, a tale that had been a mystery even to his brothers.
For those precious moments, it felt like he had his father back. The one he had always wanted. The man he had idolized.
But it didn’t last.
The shift came abruptly, like a door slammed shut. Vittorio’s face twisted, his eyes clouded with sudden anger. His fangs descended, sharp and gleaming. “Who are you?” he hissed, voice reverberated a mix of fury and confusion. “Why are you at my home?”
“It’s me, Father,” said Domencio. “Do you not see me?”
“Why are you here, ahead of your brothers,” replied Don Vittorio.
“They are not the answer. That is why,” said Domencio.
Vittorio snarled. He leaned back in his chair, and his cataract eyes glistened, then glowed from the internal fire of his Draca.
“Does it hurt, father?” Domencio asked.
“Are you mocking me?” Don Vittorio replied.
“No. I have no malice for you. Do you know why?”
The Don’s hands curled into fists. He did not trust Domencio. He did not trust any of his sons. The witch Julia Brown had warned that his boys could and would turn on him and then each other if he took them from the swamp. But he did not think his chosen son would ever allow it to happen. Lucio was the most loyal. These thoughts he did not speak. However, Domencio heard his thoughts loud and clear. An old jealousy and childhood wound was ripped open. He bled internally over it. Even in his father’s diseased mind, he was not good enough. Maybe he was never meant to be. Maybe the prophecy was right, and Lucio was the chosen. Domencio gave up on the fight.
“How can I make you comfortable?” Domencio asked. “What can I do, father?”
“Die,” Vittorio spat. “I should have let the feral’s eat you in that crypt. You are weak, a shadow of the strength I passed on. I can’t stand the sight of you.”
Despite his vow to just be of aid to his father, the words were hard to dismiss. Domencio tensed all over with restraint. “Lucio is no saint. None of us are. Did you know that right now he betrayed you? That he found the Chosen? That he kept her away from you. To let you rot. Did you!”
Don Vittorio sneered, but stared off to the left, lost in some place Domencio could not reach.
“Did you hear me, father?” Domencio said.
“If this is true,” Don Vittorio’s head slowly turned, and he blinked his dead stare, now fixated on Domencio. “Why haven’t you brought this to Phoenix? The magistrate.”
“Phoenix?” Domencio frowned. “He is Marcello’s consiglieri—and I don’t report anything to Phoenix?—”
“He is the Magistrate!” roared Vittorio. “He knows. He knows. He… knows....”
“Knows what?” asked Domencio
Vittorio slipped into a catatonic state. Domencio kept the emotion from the conversation and his voice and tried to speak again.
“What about me? ” Domencio asked.
“I have four sons,” replied the Don after a very long pause. “There is no you .”
Domencio lowered his gaze. Most of what Vittorio said made no sense. Even so, the hurt from his rejection cut him to his core. Vittorio was up, snarling and arguing with someone before him that Domencio could not see. The transition was violent, a reminder of how deeply his father’s mind had decayed. It wasn’t just the bloodlust. Vittorio’s mind was rotting, membrane by membrane, his memories slipped like sand through his fingers. One moment, he was the man Domencio revered: the next, a stranger, unrecognizable and dangerous.
Domencio had no choice. He seized his father. Fought him hard and forced him into the coffin that Marcello said he kept him locked away in during his visits. He slammed the lid and secured the silver locks. He backed away slowly, heartbreaking with each step. He couldn’t stay, not like this.
The last thing he saw as he heard was Vittorio howling like the ferals that seized him as a child and the emptiness around his father’s existence. And a new jealousy surfaced. Lucio was dying or becoming, and out there was a woman fighting for his soul. His mate. No matter what path Domencio walked, he’d be alone. And he’d die alone, just like Vittorio.
The old vampire laughed.
“I hear you, boy…” he said. “She hears you too.”
Domencio shivered. The feeling of someone walking over his own grave chilled him. He forced himself to ask the question he didn’t want to know the answer too. “Who hears me? Who is she?”
“ Julia Brown, Julia Brown, Julia Brown, JuliaBrow,JuliaBrownJuliaBrownJuliaBrown—” Vittorio said over and over as though it were the only thing left tethering him to reality.
Domencio closed the door behind him. He had no tears left to cry.
The last rays of the sun dipped behind Mount Pellegrino. Its descent cast the sky in shades of crimson and violet. Darlene materialized on the stone steps of the hotel, drawing startled gasps from a few guests coming and going through the grand entrance. With a quick thought, she concealed herself from their eyes—a new power gifted to her by Papa Legba. Several people frowned, puzzled by the fleeting image they thought they’d seen. This magic was unlike anything she’d known before, and she still wasn’t entirely comfortable with it.
The last rays of the sun dipped behind Mount Pellegrino. Its descent cast the sky in shades of crimson and violet. She glanced down at herself—Papa Legba had kept his word. She felt her power renewed in ways she had never dreamed. And from her sheer will, she changed her attire to a black lace evening gown that clung to her like a second skin. It stressed every curve with an elegance that bordered on dangerous. She then stepped back into the reality of the mortals. Men she passed as she descended the steps paused to stare. Their gazes lingered as if mesmerized. Her pheromones were so strong they could not turn away. But Darlene paid them no mind. Her focus was on the car, waiting for a guest. She looked into the eyes of the driver, and he became hers.
“Salve, signura, unni ti portu stasira?” the driver said with an appreciative smile.
Darlene knew Sicilian. She got a kick out of how much she understood. She couldn’t wait to test her skills with Dolly.
“Syracuse, Vittorio,” she said and eased inside. The driver was eager to comply. She had to reach Syracuse. Vittorio was there. Papa Legba said that Domencio had retreated to his ancestral home as well. He warned her that going to the vampires would be certain death. Everyone, even this deity, doubted her. To them, Dolly was the smart one. That’s what she too had believed. Dolly had the smarts, and she had the strength and the courage. But she’d prove them and herself wrong. She would stop Julia Brown and Papa Legba’s curse and prevent the prophecy. She had her own plan. After all, she was the Chosen One.
The car ride south was uneventful at first. The driver navigated the winding roads with a quiet precision. Sicily’s rugged beauty unfolded around them as twilight deepened. The landscape shifted from the city’s ancient streets to the wild countryside. The moon had begun its ascent, and with it came the pale glow of light over the hills.
As they neared Syracuse, the driver suddenly turned onto an unpaved road. The smooth asphalt gave way to sharp, jagged rocks that crunched under the tires. The road wound deeper into the wilderness, the dense forest crowded in on both sides. A dark thrill slid down Darlene’s spine as she felt the shift in the air—a cool dread that settled around her like an unwelcome companion. Something was wrong.
The car came to a halt.
“I go no further,” the driver said in Sicilian, his voice tight with fear. “You walk.”
Even Darlene’s magic could not compete with the mortal’s fear. Darlene stared ahead at the dark, forested path that stretched beyond the car. Shadows seemed to move at the edges of her vision, unnatural and unsettling. “What’s wrong?”
The driver gripped the wheel tightly.
“You go,” he muttered.
She studied him for a moment, then reached out, her fingers brushing his shoulder gently. His head slumped forward almost immediately. He fell into the darkness of sleep she gifted him. She hadn’t hurt him. He may be useful to her when she was done.
“This won’t take long,” she smirked.
Stepping out into the cool night, Darlene closed the car door behind her and began the long walk. Though the ground was rocky, she glided along without issue in her six inch high-heeled shoes. The forest seemed to close in around her the deeper she went. The only sounds were the crunch of her footsteps on the gravel and earthy path, the faint rustle of leaves overhead. She felt the presence of something far greater than herself in the darkness. It watched. It waited.
In the heart of the dark forest, Papa Legba appeared—his figure barely more than a shadow among the trees. She ignored him. His presence was as familiar as it was haunting to her now, and for the first time, the full weight of their bargain settled over her like a shroud. As she continued, she saw a youthful version of a slave girl standing alone in the forest, watching her. Who was she? Could it be her ancestor—Julia Brown? The young woman shook her head and said something Darlene could not hear. She waved her arms as if in a warning, before she disappeared.
Darlene continued. She didn’t allow Papa Legba’s tricks to confuse or delay her. She was smart though she knew the deity believed she wasn’t. She was born for this moment not Dolly. And in this destiny she intended to fulfill.
Lucio could still be saved. Domencio was the key to everything. That was what they did not know. A truth that was her destiny.
The Sicilian forest seemed to close in tighter. The ancient trees towered above her like silent sentinels. Their twisted branches reached out like skeletal fingers and blocked what little moonlight could penetrate the thick canopy. The ground beneath her heels was uneven, the rocks sharp and unforgiving, as if the land itself resented her presence. Each step felt heavier than the last. The oppressive weight of darkness settled over her like a shroud.
There was no sound but the rhythmic crunch of gravel underfoot and the occasional flutter of wings from unseen birds. But Darlene could feel it—eyes on her, watching from the shadows. The trees whispered, or maybe it was the wind. It carried voices that didn’t belong to this world. The deeper she ventured, the thicker the air became, laden with the scent of decay, of something old and forgotten.
Up ahead, through the skeletal limbs of the forest, the silhouette of the old villa loomed. Its jagged edges pierced the sky. It was no simple villa; it looked more like a castle, its turrets rising like crooked teeth against the night. The stone was blackened with age; the walls cracked and crumbled in places, as if the very structure had absorbed centuries of malice. Darkness hovered around it, thick and palpable, as though the night itself was drawn to the place to feed on whatever sinister energy pulsed within.
The closer Darlene came, the more the forest revealed its secrets. Bones littered the path—old, brittle things half-buried in the earth, remnants of those who had wandered too close to the vampires’ domain and never left. Some were human, others unrecognizable, twisted into grotesque shapes by years of neglect. Ribcages jutted out of the ground like broken sticks, and skulls peered from the shadows, their hollow eyes forever locked in expressions of terror.
The villa itself seemed to breathe; its ancient stones groaned under the weight of oppression. Vines crawled up its walls like veins. The veins choked the life from the structure. Windows, cracked and dark, stared out like empty eyes, reflecting nothing but the abyss within. There were no lights, no signs of life, only the ever-present sense of something malevolent that waited in the dark. This was a place where death had been welcomed, where the living was merely prey.
At the massive front door, carved from wood so dark it looked like it had been burned by time itself, Darlene hesitated. The door bore intricate designs, and twisted symbols that slithered with a faint, otherworldly energy. Her hand hovered over the handle for just a moment, the sense of dread grew stronger, heavier, until it felt as if it would crush her.
She pushed open the door. The heavy wood screeched in protest.
The darkness inside was impenetrable, thick, and suffocating. It swallowed the dim light from outside the moment she stepped through. The air was cool, damp, like a tomb sealed for centuries. Shadows shifted and twisted in the corners of the vast entryway, moving as though they had lives of their own. The door creaked shut behind her with a finality that echoed through the hollow hall.
Darlene stood still; her senses heightened. The villa was alive in a way that had nothing to do with the living. She could feel the weight of eyes upon her, something lurked just beyond the reach of her vision. And yet, she wasn’t afraid.
She moved forward, deeper into the shadows, where Vittorio and Domencio waited—her steps steady, determined. Whatever darkness this place held; she would meet it head-on.
The prophecy had brought her here, but her love for Lucio and Domencio is why she intended to win the fight.