Chapter 3
Chapter Three
Rocco
The limo didn’t head toward Bourbon Street.
I watched through the tinted window as we passed the turn that would’ve taken us to Angelo’s place—the heavily warded townhouse where the vampire king of New Orleans conducted his business. Where I’d expected to be taken.
Instead, we turned onto Canal Street.
My hands went cold.
Crimson Stakes Casino rose up ahead, all red neon and black glass, gaudy as a wound against the morning sky.
Tourists thought it was just another place to lose their money.
They didn’t know about the room in the back.
The one with no windows. The one people walked into and never walked out of—at least not on their own two feet.
I’d heard the stories. Everyone in the supernatural world had.
The limo slowed. Stopped.
Dimitri glanced at me in the rearview mirror, and that sly grin was back. “Nervous?”
I didn’t answer. My mouth had gone dry.
“Why not Crescent Manor?”
The words came out before I could stop them. Crescent Manor, where Angelo hosted his allies. Where I’d sat in a velvet chair and drunk bourbon older than me, back when I was still someone worth talking to. He’d welcomed me there even after—
I shut that thought down.
“I don’t know. I’m just the chauffeur.” Dimitri pulled the limousine into the garage, the shadows swallowing the car whole. He killed the engine and glanced back at me. “You’re going to have to ask the Boss Man.”
Dimitri climbed out and came around to open my door. He stepped back and bowed slightly, one hand pressed to his chest in a mockery of court etiquette. “Your Majesty.”
My jaw clenched. “Don’t call me that.”
“Touchy.” His grin didn’t falter.
I climbed out of the limo, legs stiff, and followed him across the garage to a red door. Gold letters spelled out PRIVATE in an elegant script. Dimitri pushed it open and gestured me through with a flourish.
The stairwell beyond was immaculate. White marble. Soft lighting. The kind of clean that took money and effort to maintain.
And it smelled incredible—like sandalwood and something faintly floral.
At least, it had. Until I walked in.
I caught a whiff of myself and winced. Eau de deep fryer, with notes of flop sweat and polyester. Perfect.
Dimitri headed up the stairs, his boots clicking sharp and confident on the marble. I followed, my damp sneakers squeaking with every step. The sound echoed off the walls like a sad little announcement: the grease monkey has arrived.
Dimitri glanced back at me, one eyebrow raised. “You going to pass out? You’re looking a little green.”
“I’m fine.”
“Sure you are.” He turned back around, but I caught the smirk.
My legs felt heavier the higher we climbed. By the time we reached the top floor, my pulse was thudding in my ears.
Dimitri pushed open another door and stepped aside.
A red carpet stretched out before me, plush and deep as blood, leading to a set of double doors at the far end.
Two guards flanked the entrance—massive guys in black suits, hands clasped in front of them, faces carved from stone.
They didn’t blink. Didn’t move. Just watched me with flat, assessing eyes.
My stomach clenched. My heart slammed against my ribs.
This was it.
Dimitri clapped me on the shoulder. “Try not to say anything stupid.” He leaned closer, dropping his voice to a mock whisper. “Actually, scratch that. Say something stupid. I could use the entertainment.”
Before I could respond, one of the guards stepped forward and pulled open the double doors.
The room beyond was all dark wood and old money. Floor-to-ceiling windows lined one wall, the curtains drawn against the morning sun. Crystal decanters glinted on a side table. The air smelled like leather and cigars and something else—something ancient and powerful that made my skin prickle.
Angelo Santi sat behind a massive mahogany desk, his long black hair falling over the shoulders of a charcoal suit that probably cost more than a year of my rent at the Mardi Gras Hotel. He looked up as I entered, dark eyes locking onto mine, and lifted one eyebrow.
He didn’t say a word. Didn’t have to. The silence said enough.
In the corner, Enzo stood with his arms crossed over his chest. Angelo’s deadliest enforcer. The guy who made problems disappear. His gaze flickered over me—the stained uniform, the squeaky sneakers, the name tag that said Rocky—and something shifted in his expression. Too fast for me to read.
But I could imagine what he was thinking.
How the mighty have fallen.
Dimitri stepped next to me and gave Angelo a mock salute. “Brought him to you. One grease-scented prince, as requested.”
Angelo didn’t acknowledge him. His dark eyes stayed fixed on me. “Still working at Bernie’s?”
“I was.” I kept my voice flat, even though my pulse was hammering. “Now that I’ve been dragged over here, I’m pretty sure I lost that job.”
“Mm.” Angelo’s expression gave away nothing.
Enzo pushed off from the corner and crossed the room, his footsteps silent on the thick carpet. He stopped beside the velvet chair facing Angelo’s desk and gestured toward it. “Sit down.”
I eyed the chair like it might bite me. Velvet. Expensive. The kind of seat you offered a guest—or someone you wanted to keep in place while you delivered bad news.
But standing here wasn’t getting me answers.
I sat. The velvet was soft against my grease-stained uniform. I locked my gaze with Angelo and waited.
He leaned back, steepling his fingers. “I’ll get right to the point, Rocco. You know I have a daughter.”
The air in the room shifted. I caught Dimitri and Enzo exchanging a glance—quick, almost imperceptible. My shoulders tensed.
“Yeah.” I kept my voice steady. “Everyone knows that.”
“I need her protected.”
I waited for more. When it didn’t come, I asked, “From who?”
Angelo’s smile was thin and sharp, the kind that didn’t reach his eyes. “That’s my business.”
“And?”
“There’s a stone I need you to retrieve for me. Lapis Umbrae—Stone of Shadow. It’s actually a shard.”
A stone. What the hell did that have to do with protecting his daughter? “Why me?”
“Because you’re uniquely qualified.”
I stared at him. “Meaning?”
“The shard is hidden at Red Rose Academy.” Angelo let that sink in for a moment. “In Julienne Piaget’s office.”
My mouth went dry. Red Rose Academy. Costin’s territory. My father’s world.
I rubbed my palms against my thighs, the polyester rough under my clammy hands. “Angelo, I still don’t understand how this applies to me.”
“My truce with Dracula—or Costin, as he prefers these days—is on rocky ground.” Angelo’s tone was casual, but his eyes were sharp. “I can’t be associated with any wrongdoing at the Academy. That could jeopardize everything we’ve built.”
I knew about the truce. Everyone did. But that didn’t explain why he needed me.
Angelo tilted his head slightly. “Did you know that Piaget is celebrating her birthday? It’s going to be quite the affair.”
The words knocked the wind out of me like a fist to the gut. Julienne’s birthday celebration at Red Rose Academy. The vampire elite would be there. Which meant—
My father. My mother. Dante.
All of them in one place. And me, the disgraced prince who’d beaten his own mother bloody.
I forced my expression to stay neutral. “I don’t think I’m on the guest list.”
“You’re not.” Angelo’s lips curved. “But I am. I want you to go as my representative.”
“What?” Red Rose Academy. Seriously? My family would be there—my mom, Dante, all of them. People I hadn’t faced since that day I’d lost control. I could already feel their eyes on me, the silence worse than any words they could say.
But Angelo wasn’t asking.
I leaned forward in the chair. “Why?”
“Because I need you to do something for me.” He paused, letting the silence stretch. “Did you know that Piaget has a new assistant professor? A protégé?”
“No.” I shook my head. “I still don’t see—“
“It’s Selena Madrid.”
Everything stopped.
The room. My breath. My heartbeat.
Selena.
I dug my fingernails into my knees hard enough to hurt. The velvet chair suddenly felt like a trap. Behind me, I heard Dimitri shift his weight—the bastard probably had that smirk on his face again.
Selena Madrid. The woman the fates had chosen for me. The mate I’d rejected because I thought she was a traitor and a disgrace.
I’d judged her. Shoved her away. Convinced myself I was in love with Rose Allen—Rose Dragan now, happy with the vampire who’d won her.
And now Angelo was saying Selena’s name like she was a chess piece he was moving into place.
“What the fuck does that have to do with me?”
“Everything.” Angelo smiled—a real smile this time, the kind that made him look almost human. He reached across the desk and lifted an envelope, cream-colored and expensive, sealed with a red wax crest. “This is an invitation. You’re going to represent me and Serenity at the birthday party.”
He held it out.
I stared at the envelope like it was a live grenade.
“You’re going to sweet talk Selena.” Angelo’s voice was smooth, unhurried, like he wasn’t asking me to tear open wounds I’d spent months trying to ignore.
“Get close to her. Ask her to accompany you to the party. And then you’re going to slip into Piaget’s office, steal the shard, and bring it back to me. ”
The words were like a noose squeezing my neck tighter and tighter.
Sweet talk Selena. The woman I’d called a disgrace to her face. The mate I’d thrown away like she was nothing.
Use her. Betray her. Again.
“I rejected her, Angelo. The mate bond is broken.”
He shrugged. “My sources say she still pines for you.”
My hands curled into fists on my thighs. “I’m not going to hurt her again. What happens if I don’t accept your offer?”
Angelo’s smile didn’t waver. He glanced at Enzo, casual as if he were deciding what to order for lunch. “Then my enforcer pays your mother a visit.”
The words cut into my heart.
“I hear she’s forgiven you, but those emotional wounds,” Angelo continued, his voice soft. Almost gentle. “She’s still recovering from what you did to her. Such a shame—she defended you, didn’t she? Told your father it wasn’t your fault. That you were possessed.”
“I was fucking possessed.”
He tilted his head, dark eyes glittering. “She still loves you, Rocco. Even after you broke her cheekbone. Blackened her eyes. Fractured her ribs. Left her bleeding on the floor.”
My chest seized. I couldn’t breathe.
“It would be tragic,” Angelo said, “if someone finished what you started.”
I lunged.
The chair toppled behind me. I didn’t care. I was going to rip his throat out, consequences be damned—
Enzo and Dimitri caught me before I made it two steps. Iron grips on my arms, yanking me back. I thrashed against them, a snarl tearing out of my throat.
“Let me go—“
“Don’t be a fool.” Dimitri’s voice was low and hard in my ear, all the mockery stripped away. “He’ll kill you. Then he’ll take his revenge on your family anyway. Your mother. Your father. Dante. Is that what you want?”
I stopped struggling. My breath came in ragged gasps. Enzo’s grip didn’t loosen.
Angelo watched me from behind his desk, utterly calm. Like I was a bug throwing itself against glass.
“Sit down, Rocco.” He gestured to the overturned chair. “Let’s discuss terms.”