Page 51 of Fratelli: Eternal Bloodlines

From inside the club, Sophie’s eyes followed Sonya’s flight and Shakespeare’s pursuit. Her face contorted with jealousy and rage. She decided to join the fun.

“Is he in here?” Sonya asked, her voice shaking.

You are right. Shakespeare cannot breach the seal. Not yet. I have covered the girls, the locker room, the hall, and the stage. But he is consiglieri, and it will not hold for long. Much has happened at Bellagio. The consiglieri have tried to capture Liora. They know who you are and they are coming. No one told me we had a Magistrate in this realm.

“A what? So it’s going to happen. The moment I step out of the locker room, he’s on me.”

It’s time for you to choose. There is no more time to explain.

“Choose? I already chose. We did the dance together,” Sonya said. “I accept you.”

We are partners, but we are not one. The choice comes from the release of fear and the façade you carry. It is a becoming. A complete acceptance of yourself, not me, the good and the bad. No more barriers, no more secrets. Your brother's death is your fault, but you can atone for it. Accept your role in it.

“I can't help but be afraid. There are wolves, vampires, and everything out there. I saw them on the stage. I saw their eyes. I felt their lust. And my brother… I… he…”

When you are ready, we will unite.

Sonya smiled at Kaida, who watched her dress from the mirror. She pulled on the leather tights, put on the leather halter, and went to the sink to clean her face of makeup. She had to feel cleansed. When she looked up at her guardian, she believed in the woman she saw. For the first time in her life, she had someone to protect her, and it was herself.

That’s right, Sonya. I will always defend you. No matter the choice.

Sonya pressed her hand to the mirrored surface. She inhaled deeply and appreciated the lesson. She inhaled deeper and released the regret. It was not just her fear, but all the doubts and insecurities she carried. Without warning, she felt the release of her energy as Kaida pressed her hand to the mirror and slipped through.

A beam of warmth and light went into her, and she rejoiced. She was not different, but she felt changed. All theancient wisdom and gifts were bestowed upon her. She was the Guardian, Defender of the Pain.

Sonya opened her eyes and smiled. “Let’s kick his ass.”

The girls in the locker room buzzed with excitement, carrying in loads of money.

“Thank you!” Bambi said and touched Sonya’s arm. A blast of shared memory hit Sonya fast. Bambi was a foster kid, running away from Montana, and headed to Vegas. The horrors of a young girl in a city of degenerates had robbed her of all innocence. Sonya, not used to her power, nearly recoiled from the pain, but something within her made her respond. She sent a healing through Bambi and another protective seal, a release from all the injustice in her life, and a defense against any darkness that might come for her in the future.

Bambi’s eyes stretched wide, tears glistening as happiness claimed her. She hugged Sonya, and Sonya hugged her in return. “You and Tootie get out of here, you hear me? Run. And don’t stop running. Everything in your dreams are as real as your nightmares.”

“I know,” Bambi said.

Sonya smiled. She glanced at the door. The darkness waited. “Goodbye, Bambi.”

“Bye, Seraphina,” Bambi smiled.

The girls all watched her go. No more fake smiles. She lifted the enchantment that was put on them by Sophie and gave them hope. She wished she could heal all of them. The best she could do was defend their pain. The choice was theirs. Sonya went out the swinging door into the darkness. In the dimly lit hallway, Shakespeare caught up to her. She gently grasped her arm.

“Creole Seraphina,” he said, his voice a low but a seductive growl. “What’s your hurry? Guardian.”

The moment his hand brushed her skin, everything unraveled. Sonya was torn from the present, flung violentlyinto the past—the 1940s. A juke joint, just outside New Orleans, in the humid depths of Houma, Louisiana. It was alive with the thrum of music and sweat. The spotlight bathed a man in shadows, a towering presence commanding the stage. Shakespeare. He moved like the music itself, weaving poetry between notes of a saxophone that wept under his breath, painting stories in the thick, smoky air. Every time he spoke, his words danced over the crowd like a spell.

Beside him, his wife—hauntingly beautiful, with a voice as rich and aching as the blues she sang. Her resemblance to Sophie was eerie, unsettling, but she was softer, earthier and black. She bared her soul to the crowd as they drank her in, a mix of desire and reverence. Their love was raw, pure, but stained with the endless brutality of life in the swamp, of the segregated South. It clung to Shakespeare like a wound that never healed, a scar deeper than anything physical. That pain... Sonya felt it now, searing into her as if it were her own.

She blinked, and the scene shifted.

A grand mansion in New Orleans, decadent and dripping with old money. A scarlet hallway stretched out before her, portraits of stunning women lining the walls like a gallery of lost souls. One portrait, framed in glistening gold, stopped her cold. It was the songbird, Shakespeare’s wife, captured in mid-performance, pouring her heart into the microphone. The sorrow in her painted eyes was a weight Sonya could barely stand.

Push him away. Break free. Break free!

But this time, it wasn’t the Guardian. It was her own voice. A whisper of survival, screaming at her to resist, to sever the connection. But instead of pulling away, she found herself drawn back, sinking deeper into Shakespeare’s memory. She was back in the swamp. Back with a younger Shakespeare, his soul stilltethered to his wife, desperately in love. He was playing again, the saxophone crying out for her, for something lost.

Sonya stepped forward, her heart heavy with the weight of his despair. She reached out, hand trembling as it rested on his shoulder, trying to summon whatever power she had left to protect him—to protect them both.Take your wife and leave before he comes, Sonya warned, her voice soft but urgent.

Shakespeare stilled. His body went rigid beneath her ghostly touch. Slowly, his head turned toward her, as if seeing her through the fog of his own memory. His eyes met hers, filled with a terrible mix of kindness, sorrow, and shattered hope. And then... she saw it. The moment that had broken him—the moment Lucio had taken his wife.

---