Page 125 of Fratelli: Eternal Bloodlines

Chapter 50

The Lost Souls

Vittorio’s Home - Syracuse, Sicily

April 21, 2018

Midnight (Day of Death)

Darlene’s handslid down her body, and with it, her form shifted. Her skin stretched, her bones reformed, and suddenly she was no longer herself. She became Domencio Di Salvo—tall, dark, dressed in the sleek black Italian suit she once admired on him in his bedchamber. She was her, but she was him.

As Domencio, she felt the weight of his vampiric hunger—bloodlust, power, the rage that surged through her veins. She turned to face him, her lover, her eyes wide in shock. She didn’t just take his form; she had invaded his mind and absorbed his deepest desires and darkest failures. Guilt gnawed at her—she knew every secret, every vulnerability.

Domencio crumpled to the floor, his body struggled against the poison he consumed from her blood. He crawled toward her, weak, each movement filled with agony. It hurt her to watch himsuffer, but she couldn’t stay any longer. She had to end Vittorio, and quickly.

As she moved for the door, his hand latched onto her ankle.

“It’s my father,” he rasped.

She looked down at him. Pity softened her expression.

“You can’t kill him… Lucio… if Papa dies… the Draquria—,” he choked out.

“No,” she interrupted. She pointed to the mirror. “The Draca doesn’t take him. See?”

In the reflection, the deity Papa Legba grinned back at them, cane in hand, trapped in the glass with him was Darlene’s soul. Domencio’s eyes filled with understanding and horror from the bargain they made as kids.

“Papa Legba takes him and the Draquria. That’s the new deal,” Darlene said.

Domencio’s head lifted. “What have you done,tesoro?” he whispered, his voice ragged.

“I made the sacrifice,” she replied, her conviction steady, cold. “The one I’d never let you or Dolly make. I’m going to save you both. I’m going to save everyone, including my Lucio.”

“Darlene!” Domencio gasped. He reached for her as she yanked her leg free and rushed out the door.

Left behind, he rolled onto his back and tried to summon air into his lungs. His chest tightened; the pain was unbearable. And then his existence began to fade.

Sonya and Shakespearerode the Vespa from Palermo to Syracuse, the hum of the engine mingled with the rush of wind around them. Her arms wrapped in secure firmness around his waist, and her chin rested lightly upon his shoulder. Eyes closed,she surrendered to the steady rhythm of the journey and drew strength from the protective energy that radiated from him—a silent expression of love that reached her in ways words never could.

“If we survive this, what kind of life will we have?”she asked telepathically, her thoughts no more than a soft probe.

“The life we choose to have,”he replied, his tone edged with quiet determination.“I’m not a slave.”

“You’re consiglieri. I’m a guardian. We’re not slaves, Shakespeare. We’re servants. The choice was made for us long ago.”She said. But it was a choice we chose to uphold.

His thoughts shifted, with defiance.“That has changed for me, now.”

The conviction in his response sent a daring thrill through her. Being his mate was more than she had ever imagined. The weight of her connection with Kaida and the dangers ahead loomed over her, but for now, she didn’t care. In this moment, she was simply Sonya—a woman alive with the exhilaration of newfound love. Even when Tristan’s memory surfaced at the edges of her mind, it was Shakespeare who reclaimed her heart and reminded her of what true love was.

“How much further?” she asked aloud, her voice rose above the wind this time when she spoke.

“We’re close,” Shakespeare called back. “But we must go through the dark forest. Look up.”

Reluctantly, Sonya pulled herself out of the dazed euphoria she’d been basking in and turned her gaze skyward. Her breath stalled. The sky was transformed, a churning mass of darkness rolled in from every direction, converging over a single, ominous point in the distance. Bolts of lightning lit the dense clouds, like fireflies trapped within a storm.

“Dear God,” she whispered, her fingers tightening their grip on his jacket. “What’s happening? Are we going to make it?”

“I don’t know,” Shakespeare admitted. His voice was calm but carried a weight of uncertainty. “Hold on.”

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