Page 58 of Fratelli: Eternal Bloodlines

His thoughts tangled in the haze of his madness, but one thing was certain—he was being hunted, too. And the game was far from over.

Don Vittorio?

The old Don whirled toward the voice behind him. He dropped to his knees from the abrupt action. There was nothing but the dark, shadowy space of his existence. He sniffed the air like the feral beast he had become.

The laughter of an old woman filled the room.

Time is no fren’ ta’ ya, demon. Soon Papa Legba, de Guardian of de Crossroads, come fo’ you. And will take you ta’ de’ true death you deserve.

The shadows parted, and the old hoodoo priestess Julia Brown stepped out of the darkness. Half of her was seen, the other half had not materialize. She existed somewhere his supernatural powers could not reach—at the crossroads, as the old woman would once proclaim to be.

“Your voodoo God is shit. Take me to hell and I’ll rule from there too, just as I ruled this realm. There is no true death you can give me, bitch. I am Vittorio Di Salvo…Io sono il Principe del Roma Senato. I am the dark prince of the Roman Senate!”

His voice boomed through every hall of his dark lair. Those citizens of Sicilia who lived within a hundred miles of Syracuse heard it as a shrill shriek in their dreams. All were startled from their sleep.

Julia Brown laughed from her shadowy existence, and, surprising to Don Vittorio, her laughter erased his memory. Even the meaning behind the words “Sex and Candy” disappeared. There were times when he was aware of Lucio’s activities, and how he had to act to save his son from the prophecy. There was time he was nothing but a blood beast crawling the walls and ceilings on all fours. Why? He had at least two more years before the curse claimed his soul. Why was he rotting away now?

The questions hammered his brain. There were times he sensed the betrayal and hatred growing between Domencio and Lucio, fueled by the descendant of Julia Brown. A woman namedafter a doll-Doll-Doll-Dolly. But like clockwork, Julia Brown would return to him in the dark and wipe his memory clean, keeping him feeble and confused about time slipping away and the advancement of his death. She mocked him and the Draca. The curse was strong and potent. His memory was weak and watery… draining from him day by day.

Julia walked toward him on a cane, and he realized it was his cane. The one he now relied on. He could not stand. His knees were bent and broken from the fall. He was forced into a kneeling position before her. It took a long time after her nightly visits for him to heal. Not even virgin blood could restore him.

Julia Brown stopped. Don Vittorio had no choice but to look up into her cataract eyes and dark smile.

I promised ma people dis dey. Dat yo’d be dust in a shell, alone, even yo’ sons cain’t stan’ the smell of yo’ rottin’.

“I am more alive than you could be. And the demon is that fake God you worship. He is no true power,” Vittorio snarled, now feral.

Papa, Legba is no demon. He be at de crossroads, a diff’ent kind a Guardian danks to ma’ magic. You came seekin’ his aid. He never look fa yo’ dead soul. He teeeches dat choices define de’ path an destinee. You wont’d to create life in yo’ image, as if’n you be de’ Gad. Dat choice begat dis one.

“Your lies from your serpent tongue mean nothing to me,” Vittorio mumbled.

“One hun’red years from ta’dey, one hun’red years from ta’night. Dere would be one, only one, and he be de worst of you, de bringer of death. You made it so. I made sure you see, and you know!

“It’s not a hundred years you witch!! You’re early! It’s not! It’s not! It’s not! You stupid old witch!” Vittorio raged. Before his eyes, she turned into the young and beautiful Marie. His long-lost love. She hoovered high enough for him to see her. He hunglike a bat from the ceiling, dangling with his clawed feet and supernatural power. She wore a white dress, staring, her eyes pleaded with him. He reached for her, and she disappeared.

Don Vittorio dropped silently from the ceiling, his movement like the fall of a shadow. His feet touched the ground, but he staggered, unsteady. Before him stood a vision—one of Julia Brown’s daughters, or so he thought at first. But when she turned to face him, she was nothing like the daughters of the past.

She was something entirely different.

Young, vibrant, and breathtakingly beautiful, her skin was the rich, lustrous brown of freshly ground coffee beans, glowing in the dim light. Her hair cascaded in thick, inky waves that tumbled beyond her shoulders, each strand catching the faintest glimmer of the room’s darkness. She wore a black dress, its bodice tight and corseted like the women of an era long gone, when ladies flaunted their wealth through their gowns. The skirt billowed in layers of sheer fabric, as if spun from the shadow spiders who lived on the dark side of the moon, long and regal, yet revealing just enough to suggest both royalty and danger.

She looked less like a princess and more like a queen—an ancient queen, forged in realms older than time itself. A queen from a forgotten age, where gods and kings ruled the stars, and power flowed through bloodlines as eternal as the universe.

Vittorio blinked. He struggled to make sense of what he was seeing. Was she real? Or was this another fevered dream?Could she be the Chosen One?His mind grasped at the thought, trying to reconcile the vision before him.

She smiled—slow, seductive, dangerous—and began to move toward him.

His knees buckled, and he fell back into a chair as if the weight of her presence alone had pushed him down. She drew nearer, her gaze locked onto him, her lips parted slightly as if shewould kiss him. For a fleeting moment, the world slowed, and all he could see was her beauty, her allure.

But then, her mouth twisted, and her teeth—razor-sharp and gleaming—emerged from behind her lips. In an instant, the kiss turned to violence. She lunged, fangs sinking deep into his throat. The pain was instant, sharp, and searing. Vittorio snarled in agony, his body convulsed as he fought back, but her strength was otherworldly, and she held him fast, tearing into him with savage hunger.

She was gone.

He was standing alone.

The feeble master vampire dropped flat to his face, then crawled toward his cane that was out of his reach. Marie, his beloved, had returned. She was behind him, watching, approaching, a shadow of herself.

He wanted to scream and rage but she could not. The Draca pushed at his ancient now brittle bones for him to rise. To turn to darkness and terrorize the countryside for the remainder of the night. All he could do was roll over and lie flat on his back.

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