Page 66 of Kiss of Blood and Sin

I gunned the engine, the limo’s tires squealing as I peeled away from the church. Every second counted now.

“Sorry, Gianna,” I muttered as I raced back toward the mansion. “Looks like I’m going to have to rain on our wedding parade. Let’s just hope this mirror’s worth it.”

With one last glance at the receding church in the rearview mirror, I steeled myself for what was to come. Breaking and entering, stealing from my future brother-in-law, potentially ruining my own wedding.... Just another day in the life of Dimitri Dragan, vampire extraordinaire and reluctant antihero.

Now, to pull off the heist of the century without losing my head—literally or figuratively. Easy as pie, right?

Chapter Thirty-Five

Dimitri

My brilliant plan? Don’t get caught. Simple, right? I parked the limo a few blocks from Crescent Manor, feeling like the world’s most overdressed getaway driver. Then, channeling my inner Batman (or should I say Batmanpire?), I shifted into a bat. Flying through the early evening air, I silently prayed to whatever deity looks after idiotic vampires on suicide missions.

Landing on Gianna’s balcony, I shifted back, thankful that vampire shapeshifting came with a built-in wardrobe function. No awkward naked burglar moments for this guy.

Usually, I’m Mr. Cool, Calm, and Collected, but right then? I felt like I was about to skinny dip in a shark tank. With chum-flavored cologne. But hesitation wasn’t a luxury I could afford.

I cracked open the bedroom door, half expecting to see a neon sign screaming “INTRUDER ALERT!” But nope, just an empty hallway. Fantastic. I slipped out, feeling like the world’s most reluctant ninja.

One of the bedroom doors was slightly ajar. Angelo’s room, no doubt. Because, of course, the vampire mafia king leaves his door open. Why bother with security when you can just dismember any unwelcome guests?

I stood outside Angelo's bedroom door, my hand hovering over the knob. The hallway was silent, almost oppressively so. This was it—the point of no return. Once I crossed this threshold, there'd be no going back. I'd be betraying Gianna's trust, risking everything we had. For what? A magical mirror and a ring?

But then I remembered Valentin's life hanging in the balance, and Gianna's safety at stake. This wasn't just about me anymore.

I took a deep breath, unnecessary for a vampire but calming nonetheless. "Come on, Dimitri," I muttered to myself. "Channel your inner Danny Ocean. Suave, strategic, and about to pull off the heist of the century."

With a sardonic smirk, I added, "Except instead of a casino vault, you're raiding a vampire's bedroom. And instead of a crew of eleven, you've got... well, just yourself and a talent for pissing people off. Close enough, right?"

My fingers closed around the doorknob. One last moment of hesitation. Was I really going to do this? Risk everything?

Yes. Yes, I was.

I turned the knob and slipped inside, every nerve on high alert. I waited for alarms, guard dogs, or maybe a shark pit to open up beneath my feet. Nothing. No cameras in sight either. Then again, why would there be? Only a complete moron would break into the big bad wolf's bedroom.

Oh wait. That’s me. Dimitri Dragan, moron extraordinaire, at your service.

I half expected to be greeted by a choir of angels or maybe a stuffed alligator. Instead, I got the vampire version of MTV Cribs.

The room was bigger than my entire apartment, with ceilings so high you’d need an extension ladder just to change a lightbulb. Dark wood furniture that probably cost more than my entire existence was scattered around like some vampire IKEA showroom. The walls were plastered with tapestries and paintings old enough to portray the Renaissance firsthand, their gold frames winking at me like they knew I didn’t belong.

In the center, a bed the size of a small country dominated the room. The sheets were a deep, blood red—how original—and looked plush enough to swallow a person whole. Note to self: avoid naps on vampire king’s bed.

But the real showstopper? A wall of windows offering a view that would make even the most jaded vampire whistle. The Big Easy sprawled out below, a glittering carpet of lights with Bourbon Street as its gaudy, neon centerpiece. The sounds of jazz and drunken revelry floated up, a symphony of bad decisions in the making.

The air was thick with the smell of Cajun spices—paprika, cayenne, thyme—making my mouth water. Apparently, even vampire kings can’t escape the allure of New Orleans cuisine. In the distance, Old Man River himself, the Mississippi, cut through the city like a dark ribbon, reflecting the moon and stars like nature’s own light show.

It was the kind of view that made you want to write poetry, contemplate life’s great mysteries, or in my case, question every life choice that led me to this moment of grand larceny.

“Focus, Dimitri,” I muttered to myself. “You’re here to steal a mirror, not audition for Lifestyles of the Rich and Vampiric.”

Why did this man have so many damn paintings? Was Angelo running an underground art gallery, or did he just have a severe case of horror vacui? The walls were a veritable Where’s Waldo? of priceless art, each piece silently mocking my attempts to find the right one.

Beads of sweat broke out across my forehead, trickling down my temples like tiny, traitorous rivulets. Great. Nothing says master thief like sweating like a human in a sauna. I approached the first painting, a grandiose depiction of a castle perched on a cliff, waves crashing dramatically below. Very Gothic romance novel cover, if you ask me.

My heart, usually as calm as a vampire’s should be, decided now was the perfect time to attempt a jailbreak from my chest. Each beat felt like a thunderclap in the silence of the room. I half expected the painted waves to start crashing in sync with my pulse.

My fingers twitched at my sides, itching to touchthe ornate frame but terrified of leaving so much as a fingerprint. The hairs on the back of my neck stood at attention, every sense hyperaware of my surroundings. Was that a creak in the floorboards or just my imagination playing a symphony of paranoia?

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