Darkness descended over Boston, a blanket of night through which windows, streetlamps, and headlights twinkled like stars. I flipped up my collar against its cold, sharp edge.
Vito leaned on the hood of my Range Rover, smoking a cigarette. With his scruffy beard, knit beanie, and fleece hoodie, he might as well have been down at the docks unloading the day’s catch. He spied my quick steps, tossed the smoke, and ground it out beneath the toe of his boot. I slid into the passenger side and thanked God for heated seats.
Rush hour traffic around the Commons was a complete cluster, and tonight was especially fucked. Figured. My sister expected me at seven for dinner. We made a point of having dinner together at least once a week. Our immediate family was small, and our parents were living in Italy, having remained in Boston as long as they could without anyone noticing they’d frozen in time. It was a balancing act, managing two estates and swapping our lives every few decades, but we made it work. We had no choice.
She thumbed-up my text, and I shoved the phone back in my pocket.
We inched along the packed city streets, lights and horns flashing in a cacophony of sights and sounds, none of which could distract me from my current fixation.
“The consultant from CMG starts Monday,” I said.
“Good.”
Vito’d never been one for idle chitchat, but his one word response captured my sentiments. I’d let this bullshit with my European office go on long enough.
What wasn’t good? Distraction. Lips parted in surprise. Fingertips resting on the neckline of a red sweater that plunged between ample breasts. Anna Barone’s image lengthened my fangs and hardened my cock.
She’d known I’d been leering. Her cheeks had colored, and the rush of her blood had resounded like a surging river. I licked my lips not knowing what plagued me worse—my hunger for her blood or my hunger for her cunt.
My semi-hard strained against my suit pants. I shifted uncomfortably, trying to relieve the pressure, and concentrated on retracting my fangs.
My hunger didn’t fucking matter. What mattered was the success of my business and my ability to protect my crew. I unbuttoned my coat and cracked the window, hoping the cold blast of air would calm my fires.
The towering monoliths of Boston’s financial district crept by, our progress slower than my reaction to the mess with my European office.
“We’re out of time,” I said.
“We have a few weeks.”
True. Boston’s zoning commissioner hadn’t officially agreed to my plan or the special provisions I needed to make it happen. The financial district wasn’t zoned for nightclubs, but tens of thousands of dollars’ worth of gambling debt made it a done deal. Unless Shaughnessy got to him first.
“You don’t know what kinda heat he’s getting from the Irish.”
“Neither do you.”
Also true. And why Vito Balistreri was my consigliere.
I wanted that property. Bad. That end of the city was a cash cow waiting to be milked, and I’d be damned before I let the Irish get their hands on it. A few clerks we had on payroll down at city hall tipped us off that someone from Shaughnessy’s crew had been poking around, asking questions. Word on the street was the Irish were looking to expand their gambling rackets. No gang had set foot in that part of the city. Not yet. I was determined to turn the financial district into an Italian stronghold. But I couldn’t do it without the capital to make the multi-million-dollar deal.
“We need to find out if they’re behind that leak. If they’ve got someone on the inside. If we’ve got a fucking snake.”
“That’s why you hired the expert, boss. Patience.”
My phone vibrated. I glanced at the illuminated screen. A new encrypted email from my cybersecurity officer, a paranoid recluse Jeff found for me after the guy’d gotten himself kicked out of MIT for hacking their records database.
Anna Barone Dossier
I didn’t like being caught off guard, and finding out Dr. Barone was a woman had caught me off guard.
Aside from the cybersecurity position, Jeff took care of my contracts himself. He understood the importance of discretion and anonymity in my line of business. Not to mention he owed me no small debt for past favors. I trusted Jeff, and Jeff trusted her. That went a long way, but not far enough. I’d ordered the workup as soon as he’d informed me he was bringing in an expert.
Better late than never.
Advanced degrees. Awards. I scrolled through pages of publications, guest lectures. A single headshot used for papers, conferences, and… her department website? A tenured professor at MIT’s Sloan School?
Pictures from what looked like Jeff and Michael’s wedding. A recent photo with an older couple in Rome. Her parents?
At first glance, accomplished and under the radar. No red flags. Perfect.
Strange, though. No marriages, no children, not so much as a single picture with a boyfriend.
She was an attractive woman. Straight, chestnut hair cascaded past her shoulders. Its rich, silky sheen reached her mid-back. Thick eyelashes accented the almond shape of her light brown eyes. The softness of her Mediterranean complexion was blessed with two beauty marks on her right cheekbone, and wisdom was etched in lines across her forehead and around the bow of her full, rosy lips.
Petite with delicious curves, the red sweater she’d worn had barely contained the swell of her breasts, and her tight skirt had stretched around a plump ass. My hand fisted.
I put the phone back in my pocket and glanced out the window. I’d waited too long. I needed to feed. Or fuck. Probably both. I stretched my neck from side to side.
We rumbled down a cobbled side street on the outskirts of the North End. The flicker of poorly maintained streetlights hid the sidewalks in shadow. A few pedestrians walked with their heads down, hands shoved into pockets against the cold.
At the intersection, the hurried movement of silhouettes caught my eye. I narrowed my focus to an alcove dimly lit by the stoplight’s red glow, and through the steam rising from a nearby sewer grate, shadows solidified into men. They grappled between the two buildings, one noticeably larger than the other. The big guy slammed the little guy into the side of a building and landed a fist in his gut. The little guy slid down the brick until he sat slumped, dazed or unconscious—I couldn’t be sure. A gust of wind cleared the steam long enough for me to see Big Guy rifling through Little Guy’s coat.
“Goddammit,” I muttered under my breath.
The stoplight turned green, and Vito pulled forward.
“Stop the car!”
I was halfway out the door when Vito hit the brakes. Anger propelled me forward, and my eyes flared to life. I lowered the brim of my hat to mask their demonic glow. Luckily, the two men hadn’t noticed the devil approaching.
The attacker’s arms bulged against his puffy coat, and a tight knit cap made his head look like a cue ball, tiny atop a thick neck. He dragged the victim to his feet, pushed him into the wall, and went for his back pocket.
Little Guy grunted, his swollen, bloodied face flat against the red brick. I lifted my head, and his hooded eyes widened when they met mine. He slammed them shut, and my fangs descended to their full length in an angry sneer.
I tore the mugger off his victim and tossed him across the alcove. He hit the brick wall with a grunt, and I positioned myself between him and Little Guy. Little Guy tried to stumble toward the street but failed. He slumped against the building and spewed his guts onto the sidewalk.
Big Guy cracked his neck, flexed his hands, and launched off the building, coming at me like a linebacker. His shoulder rammed into my middle and knocked the wind out of me. He was a big fucker, I’d give him that, but for every ounce of muscle he had, he was short a few brain cells. He wrapped his arms around my torso, leaving my arms free. Big mistake.
I drove my fist into the side of his meaty head. It was an odd angle, but I had more than twice the strength of an average human, and even with his thick skull, that had to hurt. He released me and staggered back, unsteady, and I took the opportunity to catch my breath.
He recovered quicker than I’d anticipated, and his ruddy face was twisted with hatred. Not too smart, he came at me again, this time with his fists up.
My eyes flared, eager for a fight.
“What the fuck?” he shouted.
I stood to my full height and flashed a toothy sneer. “Ready for more?”
“Freak,” he growled and threw a punch.
Easily blocked. Decades of training in Vito’s boxing ring on top of superhuman speed, reflexes, and strength? This idiot didn’t stand a chance.
I let him throw a few punches, tire himself out, then hit him with a wicked left hook. He spun with the punch and stumbled back until he sagged against the wall.
A pained groan cut through the silence. I glanced over my shoulder. Little Guy held his stomach, his head lolling from side to side. I moved to help him, but thick fingers clamped around my wrist. I spun back to face their owner, and my jaw met the blunt impact of Big Guy’s gloved fist.
The hot, metallic taste of blood filled my mouth, and my anger erupted into rage. He moved to throw an opposite hook, but I swatted his arm away like a gnat. I picked him up by his puffy coat and threw him into the far wall, harder than before, the power of my fury fueling my strength. He tried to regain balance, but I drove my right fist into his gut before hitting him with the full force of my left cross.
My fist connected with a crack. The man’s head snapped to the right and blood spurted from his mouth and splattered across the brick. His knees buckled under the weight of his limp body, and he sunk to the ground.
Cazzo, that hurt. I shook my hand and watched him, making sure this time he was down for good. But that had been a brutal punch. He was out.
I strode back into the street, amped from the fight and angry as hell that shit still happened in my neighborhood. Vito was leaning against the passenger-side door of the Range Rover, ankles crossed, smoking a cigarette. Like he was picking me up from an appointment. Asshole.
I swiped the blood from the corner of my mouth. “The fucker split my lip.”
He lifted a shoulder. “You dropped your guard.”
I glared at him. “Call an ambulance.”
“What about the police?”
“Let the medics handle it but get the little guy’s information.” I’d cover his medical expenses. He was in a bad way, probably out of work. Can’t take care of yourself if you’re out of work. “As soon as you hear the black-and-whites, get the hell out of here. We don’t need complications. I’m going to walk this off.”
“You got it, boss.”
I buttoned my coat, shoved my hands into my pockets, and started toward my family home. I hadn’t taken more than a few steps before I stopped short, my adrenaline fueling a train of thought I couldn’t ignore.
“Vito.”
He looked up from the cigarette butt he was putting to rest with his boot.
“Put a tail on Anna Barone. I want to know where she goes, who she talks to, and if anyone is watching her.”
He answered with a nod, took out his cell, and made his way toward the alcove.
The cold night air and my brisk pace burned off my remaining rage. My fangs retreated, my breath slowed, and my heart stopped pounding against the cage of my ribs. That asshole was lucky I hadn’t killed him. But I didn’t need police entanglements, and dead bodies always led to police entanglements.
Protection came in different forms. Most of the time, people paid for protection, and the Lord knew I’d worked over more scumbags for fucking with the wrong person than I could count. Other times, like tonight, it was just the right thing to do because we lived in a shit world with shit people, and someone needed to keep it in check.
I turned the corner onto the street where my family had lived for over half a century. Despite Gina’s assurances the neighborhood had changed, these streets were still dangerous. I’d just seen the evidence firsthand, and I’d taken an oath to protect them.
Gina’s silhouette moved behind the kitchen drapes and made me smile. It tugged on my split lip, and I winced as I walked up the steps. I keyed open the door, and the light, warmth, and mouth-watering aroma of chicken piccata started to cleanse me of my foul mood. I hung my coat and hat, and my sister stepped out of the kitchen wiping her hands on a dish towel.
“Ciao, Gina.” I moved to kiss her cheek, but she held me at arm’s length and examined my face.
“Marco! Your lip! What happened?”
“It’s nothing.” I swiped my thumb across my bottom lip. It came away with a bloody smear. I shrugged and took her shoulders again, trying to greet her with a kiss.
“No dire cazzate,” she swore and swatted me with the dish towel. “It’s not nothing. Sit.” She pointed at Papà’s recliner, her stern tone reminding me of Mamma, and stalked off into the kitchen.
I knew better than to disobey. I shrugged out of my suitcoat, tossed it over the back of the chair, and eased myself into the old leather recliner, suddenly very tired and very hungry.
Gina came back with a crystal single of whiskey and an ice pack.
“What about dinner?” I asked.
“Dinner can wait.” She handed me the drink and the ice. “Drink that and ice your lip while you tell me what happened.”
“I don’t need ice.”
She lifted an eyebrow. “Humor me.”
“Bossy little sisters,” I grumbled and swigged the whiskey. I lifted the ice to my lip. The wound was almost healed from the power in my blood, but I had to admit the warmth of the whiskey and the chill of the ice eased the remaining discomfort and a lot of my tension.
She leaned back in the rocking chair and folded her arms across her chest. “What happened?”
“I pulled a mugger off a guy on Salem Street. He landed a lucky punch.” I moved the ice from my lip to my knuckles and threw back the rest of the whiskey. “I landed more.”
“No doubt,” she said, her tone sharp.
She narrowed her eyes, but before she could begin with a barrage of questions, I lifted my hand to hold her off, ice pack in tow.
“They’re both alive. Vito’s handling it.”
The tension in her shoulders eased. “Did anyone notice you change?”
“Yes, but you know they won’t say anything. Even if they do, no one will believe them.”
She nodded and stared into the empty fireplace, worrying her lip.
For the most part, blood demons hid in plain sight. We didn’t flaunt our extraordinary abilities, and human Sources were as motivated as we were to keep our secret. They didn’t want to lose their income or, for some, their kink fulfillment. But more importantly, the average human didn’t want to believe in the supernatural. They’d explain away most paranormal experiences, convince themselves there had to be a rational explanation. No one wanted to be labeled crazy.
Gina’s focus drifted back to my face, and she examined me with the unnecessary intensity typical of overprotective sisters. “You look pale. You haven’t fed in a while, have you? You shouldn’t wait so long. And now this? You need to feed, Marco.”
“How’s work? Is everything lined up for the Foundation gala next month?”
“Dannazione,” she snapped. “Don’t change the subject. You’ve always had such a hang-up about feeding. I don’t get it. It’s not like we didn’t grow up in the same house. You should be feeding at least once a week.”
She wasn’t wrong on either account. I did have a hang-up about feeding, but I wasn’t about to admit that to her or explain why.
I dropped the ice pack into the tumbler I’d left on the end table and pushed myself out of the recliner. I knelt before my sister and took her hands. “I’m fine. I’m just hungry.” She scoffed and looked away. “For food, Gina.”
She turned back to face me, still chewing on her lip.
I squeezed her fingers. “I promise I’ll feed tonight, okay? But after dinner. Per favore,” I whined. “I’m starving.”
She swatted my arm, this time with her hand, and a genuine smile transformed her worried face. “All right, all right.”
I stood and pulled her to her feet.
“Vino?” she asked over her shoulder before disappearing into the kitchen.
“Yes,” I called back.
I picked up the empty glass and ice pack from the end table and paused, running my tongue over the fading cut in my lip. It already felt better. So did my hand. Still, I was drained.
Had it already been a week? I’d lost track of time dealing with my European office, extorting permits out of city hall, and planning the new front I was determined to build in the financial district. I needed blood more than the food I was about to eat, and I wouldn’t regain my full strength until I fed. I pulled out my cell and texted Vito.
Sarah was hearty and athletic. I could drink my fill. And our transactions were detached and professional, just the way I liked them.
Anna Barone appeared in my mind’s eye, writhing in ecstasy, my teeth buried in her neck, my cock plunging into her wet cunt.
What the fuck?
My mood darkened with each step toward the kitchen. My European office was hemorrhaging money, and the Irish were sticking their noses where they didn’t belong. The last thing I needed was a distraction, someone upending my routine.
I paid for blood, and I paid for sex. Never at the same time and never with the same woman. No matter how enticing the temptation.