Page 85 of Fratelli: Eternal Bloodlines

“Here! Take the ladder to the doors. Jump!”

She glanced over and saw a maintenance ladder bolted to the wall. Without hesitation, she jumped and slipped but caught a rung and climbed to the doors. The vampire, Tristan, wasright behind her. Sonya pried the doors open and heaved herself inside. Tristan followed.

They were on a casino floor. They could hear the intercoms beyond the hall. When Tristan looked around, he saw where they were and smiled. “Good. Good job. Follow me.”

Once outside the hotel, Tristan led the way through the maze of stranded cars and confused tourists. They reached an alleyway where a Bugatti was parked.

“Get in,” he ordered.

Sonya did as she was told. Tristan hit reverse and drove a mile backward around cars and people until he spun out into the open street. He then accelerated into the night.

Shakespeare rodehis motorcycle between the parked cars that clogged the Vegas Strip, weaving through pedestrians and stalled vehicles.

The chaos of the night mirrored his inner turmoil. Grief had consumed him, an intense pain he hadn’t felt since he lost his beloved Sophie. Her death was his fault, as was her cursed existence. Blinded by blood tears, he was unprepared for the mental jolt that struck him like a bolt of lightning. The Supreme Draquria had sent a command from Sicily.

Shakespeare lost control of his motorcycle, nearly crashing into a car. The bike threw him off, causing him to hit the back of a vehicle while the bike itself skidded across the pavement, sending sparks flying.

Stunned, he lay there for several minutes. People gathered around him. One even knelt to render aid. The blood on his face was not from the accident, but from his vampiric tears. He lay there and suffered in his own misery.

Join us!Phoenix's voice commanded in his head.

Something had gone wrong. The message from the consiglieri was clear. The Fratelli had judged Lucio, and today was the day of his death. Shakespeare sat up, and the crowd backed away. His mangled body healed in front of the mortals. Some gasped and covered their mouths, others ran off screaming as if he were a devil. Once recovered, he closed his eyes and reached out to Domenico. He received nothing, no request, no instructions. In fact, he felt nothing from any of his brethren. Just the fragments of Phoenix calling out to him.

Assuming he was needed at the Bellagio, he climbed onto his bike and revved the engine to take to the night at a suitable speed. By choosing the sidewalk over the street, he made people run or jump out of his way.

Within minutes, he reached the Bellagio and noticed the aftermath of the battle between brothers from across the street. Only he and the other supernatural’s could witness what the Fratelli had done to their own. Marcello took Lucio, and the brothers disappeared in a blink, turning to smoke.

“Lucio is dead,” Shakespeare muttered.

But there was no relief. Decades of craving revenge had come to this—an empty, hollow feeling. Domenico had predicted this moment, but some part of him had never believed it would come.

He exhaled sharply, turning his bike toward the Bellagio and rode hard. The power outage was a nuisance, the crowd outside the hotel even worse. A blockade prevented entrance, so he veered to the side, and cut through the valet area and headed toward the garages. Just as he did, Tristan and the guardian burst from a secured exit. Shakespeare paused; his gaze fixed on them.The bitch had killed his Sophie.They jumped into Tristan’s Bugatti, speeding in reverse through the alley.

Shakespeare narrowed his eyes. Lucio was dead, but theconsiglierilived. There was unfinished business here. And why was Tristan with the guardian, unprotected? Where was Phoenix?

Confused but fueled by rage, he took off after them. Tristan swerved into the open street, accelerating, and Shakespeare dropped his headlights, slipping into pursuit. The chaos in the night around him only intensified his need for vengeance.

Sonya tooka deep breath and braced herself for what lay ahead. She glanced at Tristan, the priest who had once been sacrificed by the vampire Lucio. He was fixated on driving, lost in his own thoughts. Images of the fight between him and Charmaine—her sister, Liora—flashed through her mind. She remembered how Charmaine had welcomed the fight, meeting Tristan’s strength head-on. And then she thought of her own reaction to Shakespeare, how she had returned to heal him despite knowing she shouldn’t.

How could she judge Charmaine for what she, too, had almost done in the face of their enemies’ pain?She turned her gaze away.

“You are Kaida?” Tristan asked.

“To you, I’m Sonya,” she muttered.

“I’ve studied you and your sisters for years,” Tristan continued, a faint reverence in his voice. “Especially your story. You, Liora, Aries, Zia—you all drew me in.”

“You’re a vampire, a slave to the Draquria. You have no right to my sister’s history. You’re just a dead priest.”

Tristan glanced at her, unbothered. “Yes, I’m dead. But your sister chose me as much as I chose her. And in that choice, she reminded me what it was to feel alive again.”

Sonya scoffed.

“When this war is over, Liora will honor her vows, and I will honor mine,” Tristan said quietly. “All of you will be purged from this realm.”

“That’s fine with me,” she replied coldly.

Tristan merely smirked. He pressed a button to lower the top of the sports car as it accelerated up the expressway ramp and headed toward the desert. “Just so long as I get one more taste of Liora before the end.”

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