A soft knock at the door interrupted my focus. It was Wednesday afternoon, and I was scrambling to finish my review of the construction contracts for my new property in Tuscany before I flew to Rome Friday to sign the paperwork.
“What is it?” I barked and noted my place on the page.
The door opened just enough for Anna to slip into my office. She stood in front of the door holding the handle behind her back. She’d removed the sweater she’d been wearing, and her chestnut hair spilled onto her white blouse, sheer enough and unbuttoned enough to draw my attention a beat too long. Annoyed by the interruption, the distraction of her breasts only added to my irritation, a reminder that her abilities came with unwelcome temptation.
Worry creased her forehead with deep lines, and her sun-kissed complexion was a shade paler than normal. Her eyes darted around the room, and the delicate skin of her neck bobbed beneath the pressure of a hard swallow.
Anna was a nervous woman, but that type of reaction didn’t come from nerves. It came from fear.
“What is it, Anna?”
“There’s—uh… There’s a Mr.—a Mr. Vincenzo Valenzano here to see you.”
What the fuck?
Almost a century of practice guarding my emotions was the only reason I didn’t yell that out loud. No wonder Anna looked like she’d seen a viper. She had. He was slinking around my foyer.
Vinnie knew better than to show up at Terme. In the middle of the day. Unannounced. Suspicion drove my irritation to a peak.
“Send him in.”
She frowned, but nodded, slipped out of the room, and left the door open behind her.
I had nothing to hide, not when it came to Vinnie, but Anna didn’t know that. All she knew was a man whose face she’d probably seen on the local news wanted to meet with her boss.
Vinnie sauntered into my office with all the confidence you’d expect from the Don of Boston. And a three-piece suit to match. His hair was more salt than pepper—he’d started graying when we were in our thirties—but his thick eyebrows were as dark as his blood-demon eyes.
I picked up my letter opener, held both ends loosely between my fingers, and leaned back in my chair. He flashed his wolfish smile, and the door clicked shut.
“What? No handshake? Nessun bacetto?”
“What do you want, Vinnie? And why the fuck did you come here to get it?”
He unbuttoned his suit jacket and lowered his ample frame into one of the chairs opposite my desk. He wasn’t as big as Big Frankie, but the apple hadn’t fallen far from the tree. “You assume I want something.” He opened his arms. “Maybe I’m just here to invite you for caffè.”
“Spare me.”
He chuckled. “Speaking of caffè, can you ask your secretary to get us some from that restaurant of yours downstairs? I could use an espresso.”
The innocent request added another layer to my foul mood. Anna’d probably quit after this fiasco.
“Anna!”
She opened the door enough to peek in and eyed Vinnie like if she looked anywhere else, he might strike. “Yes, Mr. DeVita?”
“Mr. Valenzano would like an espresso from Vittoria.”
“Vittoria?”
“The restaurant downstairs.”
“Oh. Right. Sorry.”
“A double espresso, sweethaht. Two sugahs,” Vinnie said in his thick Boston accent.
She looked at me, eyes flashing with contempt. “Can I get you anything, Mr. DeVita?” The words cut with a sharp edge of disdain despite the shake in her voice.
“No.”
She gave me a terse nod and closed the door.
I let the tip of the letter opener fall to the blotter and spun it on its pointed end. “You’re supposed to text if you want something. Set up a meeting. Somewhere safe.”
He eyed the spinning blade. “What place is safer than Terme?
“Safe from eyes, Vinnie.”
He shrugged. “They watch me no matter where I go.”
His cavalier attitude made me want to stab him with the damn letter opener, but I let it go. A swift end to the conversation was more important than proving my point. “What do you want?”
“I don’t want anything. But I do have something for you.”
I cocked an eyebrow. “Forgive my skepticism.”
He frowned, dropped his Don-of-Boston persona, and narrowed his eyes. “What’s with the venom, Marco? What the hell did I do?”
The valid question snapped me out of my attitude problem. I sighed, let the letter opener fall to my desk, and pressed my thumb and forefinger into my eyes before pinching the bridge of my nose.
I was on edge, annoyed by Vinnie’s unexpected visit, but he wasn’t the enemy. He wasn’t exactly a friend, but I’d known the man since I’d started working for his father eighty years ago. We shared an understanding and mutual respect.
No, this had to do with the fear I’d seen in Anna’s eyes, her reaction to the boss of the Boston Mafia showing up at her desk. It had triggered a response, some sort of instinct I didn’t want to examine. And it was making me act like a dick.
“Nothing. Sorry.” I dragged a hand down my face. “I’m flying to Italy Friday, and I have to finish reading this contract.” I waved a hand over the papers strewn across my desk.
He arched an eyebrow. “Now it’s my turn to be skeptical.”
I stared him down, done with the banter. “What do you have for me, Vinnie?”
He smirked but took the hint. “A business proposition.”
“I gathered. Which business?”
“Sources.”
I folded my hands in my lap and reclined in my chair. “I’m listening.”
“It’s important to me, you, and our community to have consistent and affordable access to Sources.”
“For a price.”
“Of course, for a price. This is business.”
Where there was a need, there was a way to make money, and enterprising blood demons like the Valenzanos had been cashing in on our need for hundreds of years, brokering Sources for those without a spouse or the connections to find one themselves. Boston housed the largest population of blood demons outside of Italy, and with it the largest Source market.
“The one demone del sangue crew under my control handles the clients, connects them with Sources, and collects and distributes payments. Same as when you worked for my father. But…” He lifted his hands and shrugged. “Demand is up. More and more demoni del sangue are settling in Boston every year. And now we have high-end clients with loftier expectations. Times are changing, and we need to change with them.”
Willing Sources weren’t as hard to find as one might imagine. Unbonded blood demons in need of extra cash. Humans intrigued by the darker side of nature, or the pleasure induced by our venom. But the key word was willing. Feeding from another soul without consent was a sin akin to rape.
My brow furrowed. “You worried about an uptick in nonconsensual feedings? My lawyers haven’t mentioned they’re getting any more requests than usual from the community.”
If demand was up, supply had to follow. Desperation led to attacks in the night, dark alleys, and shadowed corners. Most of the time, anyone claiming to have been attacked by a “vampire” was dismissed as crazy, but that didn’t mean victims couldn’t claim assault. And if too many vampire accusations started flying around, no matter how unhinged, we’d have a real problem—unwanted attention. Federal unwanted attention.
“Not yet. We’ve recruited new soldati demoni del sangue to handle the increase in volume, and so far, we’ve kept up. But I’m pushing the boundaries of how much I can grow that crew, Marco. You and I both know there’s a reason my father agreed to let you out.”
Vinnie leveled me with a heavy look equal to the weight of his words, but he didn’t need to remind me of Big Frankie’s motivations. Every favor granted in Cosa Nostra came with a price.
The mixed bag of humans and blood demons that was the Boston Mafia back when me and Tony joined had been a risky business. Not all humans were as accepting as Big Frankie. Enforcing omertà when a soldier’s world was rocked by learning the supernatural existed was no easy task. Especially given the feds were breathing down our necks and hoping to put the screws to a rat.
Big Frankie had been well aware of his mortality, and that his blood demon son would soon become Don. The Mafia garnered enough attention without the added bonus of potential vampire accusations. He’d decided separating the ranks would deflect any unnecessary scrutiny while keeping Boston under Valenzano control. But he also wasn’t about to give up one of his most lucrative rackets.
So, we struck a deal. He let me out, and I took the blood demon capi and soldati with me. The Valenzano demoni del sangue were limited to Vinnie and the capo and crew responsible for the Source racket. The rest of the Boston outfit was human and kept in the dark about the true nature of their boss.
“What’s the problem, then?” I asked. “Sounds like you’re meeting demand. And probably earning a shitload in the process.”
“Like I said, times are changing. If we can’t keep up with expectations, won’t matter if we have enough Sources.”
Suspicion hardened into a sinking rock in my gut.
“The fronts in Revere and Saugus do steady business, but not all our clients, or Sources for that matter, want to be seen at a strip club. Others feel uncomfortable bringing a Source into their home since many of them are doing it for the money, not the kink. Options in the city are limited outside the North End.”
The sinking rock bottomed out, and I stiffened, realizing why Vinnie’d come to Terme.
He quirked a smarmy smile. “Some of the new Sources signed up thinking they could charge more for high-end experiences. Thing is, I don’t wanna stop ’em. Clients are willing, and it’s a bigger tax.” He shrugged. “There’s more money to be made in this racket than ever before. If I can find the right venue.”
I ground my teeth and picked up the letter opener, needing something to squeeze beside Vinnie’s neck.
“An upscale venue where refined clients and Sources can conduct business. A venue friendly to demoni del sangue where both parties feel comfortable and safe—”
Two knocks came at my door before I had a chance to unleash my own interruption.
“Yes,” I barked.
Anna slipped into the room carrying a small, insulated cup. She tentatively stepped to where Vinnie sat, relaxed and waiting to be served. She held out the cup, and it trembled in her fingers.
“Grazie, sweetheart.” He looked her up and down, and I loathed him in that moment. “You ever get sick of working for this wiseguy, you gimme a call, capisce? I could use more Italian women like you on my staff.” He flashed his wolfish smile and winked.
Anna wrung her hands, and her face paled like she was going to be sick. Not that Vinnie noticed. He was too busy feeling her up with his eyes. I strangled the letter opener.
Anna nodded. “Excuse me,” she said softly and turned to leave.
Vinnie tracked her backside as she hurried out of my office. “She’d make a great Source,” he said as an afterthought. The door closed and he turned back to me, brow raised as he sipped his espresso. “Healthy. Italian. She’d be a top earner with that ass and those tits—”
I stabbed the letter opener into the blotter. It cut through the leather and wedged itself deep in the hardwood. My breath came fast and heavy, and the heat in my blood threatened to turn my eyes.
“Cosa?” Vinnie exclaimed and opened his arms. “She your goomar or something?”
“She’s my assistant,” I snarled, “which means she’s part of my crew and off limits.” The thought of my connections corrupting Anna’s safe, mundane world made me want to commit acts of violence. “Get to the point, Vinnie.”
He eyed me suspiciously, mouth twisted in an unhappy sneer. “My point is, if I had a venue like Terme di Boston—”
“You could charge more,” I interrupted, my temper overtaking my patience. “And you’d have a reputable business through which you could launder your profits.”
The constancy of his stare and the twitch of his upper lip were his only answer.
“In other words,” I continued, my words clipped with malice. “You want to turn Terme into a brothel and me into a pimp.”
Vinnie scoffed and looked away. “Don’t be crass.”
“Well, that’s what you’re asking for, isn’t it?”
He turned back to face me. “You’ve always had an interest in protecting our people.” His lip twitched again, and he tried to cover it up with an ingratiating smile.
Vinnie’d had that tell as long as I’d known him. That lip twitch told me everything. He thought he could bait me by framing this entire scheme as some altruistic service to the community. He should have known better than to think I’d buy such thinly veiled bullshit.
“Let’s call it what it is, Vinnie. You want to expand your Source racket, but you need a high-end front with a large enough cash flow to do it.”
“A small price to pay to protect the community.” There was that twitch again. He wasn’t even trying to hide his bullshit anymore.
“Ah,” I said through a cynical laugh. “Okay.” I yanked the letter opener out of my desk and tossed it on the blotter.
“You’d get a sizable cut of the tax. And for what? Nothing illegal. Sources are willing.”
“Nothing illegal? Really? Laundering prostitution money? No, nothing illegal about that.”
“That’s a rather pejorative way of looking at it. Not to mention, you’ve never had any issue paying for Sources.”
No matter how he spun it, the Source racket was organized prostitution, and I did not take that shit lightly. Yes, I participated, but out of necessity. I took no pleasure in the act and gave those transactions the respect they deserved.
I gripped the edge of my desk and leaned forward. “I’m not going to rot in jail from blood starvation to launder your money. Or house an illegal brothel, which, if the feds find out, is exactly what they’ll call it.”
He pressed his lips together and folded his arms.
“Come on, Vinnie. I have no moral quandary with the service you provide. You know that. But I already have Agent…” I waved my hand through the air.
“Agent Johnson.”
“Agent Johnson following me around, trying to build a RICO case. The last thing I need is more traffic in and out of Terme. Especially Sources. I’m not willing to risk a federal indictment.”
He scoffed. “You know we have provisions in place to handle jail time and the feds. Managed by your lawyers, in fact. You’re being shortsighted. This is an opportunity for both of us to make a lotta money.”
“I broke financial ties with the Valenzanos years ago. I’m not going to be pulled back in now.”
“I never understood why.”
“You know my reasons. I never hid them from you or your father.”
He stood and stepped to the edge of my desk. Challenge flashed in his eyes. “You should take this deal, Marco. It’ll be good for business.”
“My business is doing just fine.”
“Is it?” Vinnie smirked. “I hear it could be doing better. Not to mention the Irish movement lately. We can’t afford to give up any more territory.”
His eyes drilled into me, but I held my composure, determined not to give him any reason to believe his words landed like an uppercut. Did I have a rat in my crew on top of everything else?
“Think of your family.”
“Is that a threat?”
“It’s not a threat, and I resent the implication.” He pointed a meaty finger in my face. “You’re a made man, Marco. I would never threaten a made man. It’s just a fact. I’m giving you an opportunity to grow your business and protect your community. That includes your family. You should take it.”
Our eyes locked in silent battle, two blood demons, both nearing a century old and neither willing to compromise.
Vinnie knocked his knuckles twice on the edge of my desk and backed away, buttoning his suitcoat. He spun toward the door and walked out of my office.
I pushed out of my chair, loosened my tie on the way to the bar in my bookcase, and poured myself a finger of whiskey.
In typical Valenzano fashion, Vinnie knew right where to hit me and when. No way this was a coincidence. Coming to me with an offer like that when profits were down and I was on the verge of a major territory acquisition? And the fact it was a good offer just pissed me off even more.
He’d been on the right track, too, playing to my sensibilities. Safe, affordable access to Sources was critical to minimizing nonconsensual feedings and keeping law enforcement out of our business. It was an important part of protecting our community and our secret. As much as I knew it was a ploy, the reminder landed hard.
But he hadn’t quite hit the mark. Not all Sources gave up their necks willingly. Some did it out of necessity, for survival. Those were the people I wanted to protect. The people who had no choice. Like my mother.
I shot back the whiskey, trying to ground myself in the present, but those images I hated so much barreled straight through my defenses and forced me to watch.
Pumping my short, eleven-year-old legs, I sped down the alley as fast as I could despite the slick, ice-covered cobbles. Italy had declared war on the United States, and the school sent us Italian kids home early, worried about unrest in the North End. I slid to a stop in front of the stairs that led to the basement room where I lived with Mamma, Papà, and my baby sister, Gina.
The cracked wooden door opened with a creak. It wasn’t much warmer inside, but I slammed it shut to save the heat. “Mamma—”
I froze. Mamma sat at the table, head tilted to the side. Two fading welts and a single drop of blood dotted her neck. A finger swiped the blood away. It belonged to a man I’d never seen before. His eyes glowed a deep red, and he licked the remnants of his meal from his finger.
His eyes landed where I stood in front of the door. Then they fell to the floor, and his shoulders slumped. He stepped back, pulled two dollars out of his coat pocket, and handed it to Mamma. “Grazie,” he said.
Mamma’s eyes held mine, and she shoved the two dollars into the pocket of her tattered sweater. “Prego.”
The man stepped past me and out the door.
Mamma and I stared at each other.
Gina let out a wail from her basket. Mamma got up, slowly, exhaustion weighing down her slight frame. She picked up my baby sister and bounced her on her hip until she stopped crying, then sunk back into her chair.
“Vieni qui, Marco.”
I met her where she sat, trying to make sense of what I’d seen. Bonded blood demons didn’t share their necks. Mamma and Papà only drank from each other.
She took my hand. Her fingers were cold and bony; Mamma had grown so thin. But her grip was firm and steady.
“That two dollars will feed this family for a week. Longer if we’re lucky. My blood is a small price to pay. But we can’t tell your papà. It would kill him. He works so hard.” Her strained voice cracked with the truth, and her eyes filled with tears. But Mamma was too strong to cry. She swallowed and cleared her throat. “I do what I need to do to provide for this family. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Mamma.”
“Good. Now, why are you home so early?”
I slammed the rest of my whiskey and poured another.
Mamma and I never spoke of that day. No one else knew she’d sold herself so we wouldn’t go hungry. But the image was branded into my memory.
The love and devotion between my parents had been the only steady force in an otherwise unsteady life. When you’re poor and your stomach aches from hunger, when you watch your father leave every day to find work only to come home empty-handed, when you’re eleven years old and life is that uncertain, there’s a constancy in your parents, at least there had been for me. And walking in on another man at Mamma’s neck had rocked my foundation.
From that day on, blood demons fed out of necessity; there was no room for pleasure. Sources provided a service purely transactional. Decades later, I understood life wasn’t so black-and-white. I understood desperation, sacrifice. But the die had been cast. Those beliefs had anchored my formative years, and I’d held on to them for so long, they’d become my truth.
A knock at the door snapped me back into the present.
“Yes.”
Anna, quiet as a mouse, slipped in through the door and closed it behind her. She looked down at her hands, clasping and unclasping them, her face still etched with worry.
“What is it, Anna?”
She cleared her throat and lifted her eyes, the light brown nearly consumed by her dilated pupils. “Was that…” She balled her shaking fingers into fists, and her nervous energy did uncomfortable things to my chest. “Was that the Vincenzo Valenzano?”
“Yes.” I sipped my whiskey, hoping to deaden the impulse to take her into my arms and tell her she shouldn’t worry, that I’d protect her.
She nodded and tried to appear relaxed even though her hands flexed open and shut. I could have strangled Vinnie.
“Does he…” She swallowed. “Does he come here often?” She asked her question quietly, as if whispering the words might ensure she wouldn’t receive an answer she didn’t want to hear.
“No. Never, actually.”
She nodded again, then looked askance and tucked an errant piece of hair behind her ear.
“He was here to offer a business deal,” I said, answering her unspoken question.
Her face paled, imperceptible to the human eye, but I was attuned to the flow in her veins.
I wanted to ease her anxiety but didn’t have the words. Vinnie was a known criminal. Son of the infamous Big Frankie Valenzano and Don of the Boston Mafia. And he’d just been in my office.
“I declined.”
Her shoulders relaxed, and she nodded vigorously, more of a comfort to herself than a message to me. She reached for the door.
“You’re Italian,” I said, and the casual comment surprised me.
She dropped her hand from the knob and turned back. “Yes,” she said tentatively.
“What part of the boot?”
The corner of her mouth twitched. “My mother’s parents are from Palermo, and my father’s are from Naples.”
I quirked a knowing smile “I should have guessed you were half Sicilian.” She let out a short laugh and looked down at her feet, and her hair tumbled on either side of her amused face. “You have that spark.”
“If by spark, you mean temper.” Her gaze settled back on mine, and a playfully guilty smile brought the color back into her cheeks and brightened her eyes. The tightness in my chest started to unwind.
“Second generation, but full-blooded Italian. Not that I doubted.” I narrowed my eyes. “Signature dish?”
“Hmm.” She bit her lip and rocked her head back and forth. “I’d have to go with… spaghetti alla puttanesca. My father’s recipe.”
“Ottima scelta. Especially since your father’s from Naples.”
“He prides himself in his heritage.”
I nodded. “The best recipes are brought over from the old country, passed down from one generation to the next. I’m a terrible cook, but at least I can make a decent Sunday gravy thanks to my mother’s unending supply of patience.” I lifted my glass in mock toast, and she laughed. “We’re not so different, you and I.”
She stuck out a hip, wrapped an arm around her waist, and picked up the gold chain around her neck. She ran it between her thumb and forefinger, regarding me with a raised eyebrow and a skeptical tilt to the bow of her lips.
Her hand at her chest drew my attention, and for a heartbeat, I admired her breasts beautifully framed by the clean white lines of her blouse. I sipped my whiskey and lifted my eyes.
“What I mean is, you understand the life of immigrants and the importance we place on community. You were raised, at least in part I assume, Italian.”
“True. My parents were involved with the Italian-American community where I grew up outside Amherst. I’ve traveled with them to Italy a few times to visit their aunts and uncles. Certain aspects of the culture were very much a part of my upbringing.”
“Those experiences shape a person. Like I said”—I lifted my glass—“we’re not so different.” I took another swig and set it down on the bar top. The warmth of the whiskey and the easy conversation softened the remaining tension in my chest and neck. “The Italian-American population here is small when you consider the size of the city. The DeVitas and Valenzanos go way back, and regardless of Vinnie’s business pursuits, he does tremendous work for the community. He crossed a boundary coming here today, but he was here for the community.”
Her lips pursed and jaw worked as if chewing on the idea. “I—I can see that.” She shifted her weight and dropped her necklace, clasping her hands in front of her. “I just wasn’t expecting someone I’ve seen associated with the Mafia walk off the elevator at my job and ask to see my boss.”
The quaver in her voice belied her dry tone. She was still unsettled. It bothered me more than I expected and more than it should.
“Yes, I can imagine how that might have been a touch jarring.”
She huffed. “Just a touch.”
“I can assure you it won’t happen again.”
She nodded. “Did you need anything else, or…” She gestured to the door.
“No. That will be all.”
She stepped toward the door.
“Although,” I continued, and she paused. “To spare you any more surprises, tomorrow morning, I’m going to city hall to meet with the zoning commissioner. I’d like you to come with me.”
“Is this about the property in the financial district?”
“Good memory.”
“Okay.” She smiled, warm and genuine, and it stirred those uncomfortable sensations in my chest. “Thanks for the heads-up.”
She left my office and closed the door behind her. I walked behind my desk, slumped into my chair, and picked up the contract I’d been reading.
My focus was shit, the words a jumble on the page, and I tossed the papers back on my desk. They landed on the letter opener I’d abandoned atop my punctured blotter. I dragged a hand down my face and reclined in my chair, resting my head against the soft leather.
Vinnie knew I was having financial problems. He was also expanding his Source racket and wanted to give me a piece of the action. And after eighty years, I was tempted to sink my fangs into a woman’s neck for a reason other than necessity. What an afternoon.
I closed my eyes and let out a long, slow breath. These contracts weren’t going to review themselves, and I had a zoning commissioner to shake down in the morning and an international flight to catch on Friday. Vinnie and Anna and all my unresolved issues would have to wait. The clock was ticking.