Page 46 of Fratelli: Eternal Bloodlines

“There was no war. There was an order for me and the consiglieri to stop and retrieve Tristan,” he said.

“But I thought, Tristan said… I thought this was you and him fighting again. Wasn’t it?” she asked.

“Stop the war?” Shakespeare spat the words. He slowed his walk back and forth. “You think sucking Tristan’s dick will bring world peace between me and them?”

“Shakespeare, please,” Sophie wept.

“All it did was make me look like a fool. You made me look weak. You, of all people, know why I hate them. Why! I want revenge! Why I deserve it! You bitch!” Shakespeare shouted.

Sophie screamed in frustrated agony. “Tristan came to me and told me you tried to kill him.”

“Liar! He would never!” Shakespeare seethed.

“He showed me. I saw it!” she shouted.

“You did not! You saw what he sent into that Swiss cheese of a brain of yours!” Shakespeare countered.

“Okay, okay. I heard rumors from the other vamps that made it believable. They said Lucio had to go into the desert and recover the body of Tristan, heal him. I went to him, and he didn’t deny you were part of it. I panicked. Then he showed me his suffering. That’s the truth.”

Shakespeare glared.

“I didn’t want to hurt you. I thought I could get him to call off the feud. I was trying to protect us, to protect you. Everything I do, I do for you,” Sophie pleaded.

“Protect me? You think lying with that... priest-turned-vamp-punk would protect me? Tristan serves Lucio, the same Lucio who stole my life, my wife, my soul, my everything. The Lucio who has caused me nothing but pain in this fucking blood-slavery I’m forced to live in. And you went to your knees before him.”

“It was a misunderstanding. I get confused sometimes; you know that. My mind sometimes slips, and I lose control of reality. It’s part of my curse. You know this!” she wailed and reached out to touch his arm. “I’m begging for forgiveness. I’m sorry, Shakespeare. Please, please, please, forgive me.”

He jerked away from her touch. “We’re through, Sophie. I’m taking the club. You can hang around and pretend to be the boss, but the club is mine. I’m making changes.”

“Don’t hurt me! I love you!” Sophie begged.

“There is no such thing as love. We are not capable of it. We don’t deserve it. You hear me? You like being on your knees, fine. That’s where I want to see you from now on. I’m taking the club, and everything you are working on. Go back to the swamps and feed on the gators, because here you will only have scraps from my table. Do you hear me? You’re done,” said Shakespeare.

Sophie’s eyes widened with shock and then narrowed with a dangerous glint. “You don’t mean that. I’ve worked so hard to be free. To be respected in the order. You can’t just throw my worth away. There are rules to our coven, to our bond. And this is my club. These are my girls. You don’t take shit from me! We’ve been through too much together.”

“Try and stop me,” he said, his voice now reduced to a low and deadly snarl. The threat was real. She was the only woman in the coven, and she had no position of power. The clubwas a gift to her from Shakespeare. And permission to open another required Domencio’s blessing. In their fucked up dead existence, the patriarchy still ruled with an iron fist. And she was sick to death of serving it. Sophie’s face twisted with rage, her beautiful features contorting into something almost monstrous. Like a bullet fired in a room of rubber, she exploded in fury and bounced off the walls, ceiling, and floors, punching holes into walls and ripping off fixtures, a whirlwind of madness and destruction. She landed on him and delivered blow after blow. Shakespeare threw her off him and she landed on her butt.

“You can’t leave me with nothing!” she sobbed. “I won’t let you. You belong to me. You don’t get to walk away! Ever!”

Shakespeare shook his head, a look of disgust on his face. A small part of him had regrets about what he would do next. Sophie’s curse was far greater than the one he lived with. With the passage of time the Draca accelerated her approach to madness. It was not her fault. The Sophie he knew decades prior would have never dropped to her knees for any consiglieri other than him.

“You belong to me. We belong together!” she wept.

“I belong to no one, least of all a whore like you,” Shakespeare mumbled. “The love of my life is dead and my soul went with her.”

After all of the hurtful insults, he left. The door closed on Sophie’s shrieking. The pain he inflicted was far more extreme than his bite. The truth was, he didn’t care for Sophie because he didn’t care for anyone. He had no heart. What good were emotions and love for the walking dead?

Behind the closed door, Sophie stood in the middle of mass destruction, her fists clenched at her sides. She watched him go. Her eyes and heart burned with fury and obsession.

Sophie's thoughts turned to the darkest corner of her soul and the Draca roared inside of her with a thirst. If Shakespearethought he could walk away from her, she would take great pleasure in proving he was wrong.

Chapter 20

Working Girl

The Pink Pussy - Las Vegas, Nevada

April 17, 2018

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