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He winks at me. “You, Carla. You are my hobby, my obsession, what I crave more than anything.”

His words leave me speechless, my fork hovering halfway to my mouth.

“I also enjoy being a daddy,” he adds with a smirk, and I roll my eyes.

I hesitate before asking my next question, but it’s been on my mind since the first time he mentioned it. “Why does chattel slavery bother you so much?”

Amari’s smile fades. He grabs his wine glass and takes a long sip.

“You don’t have to answer,” I say quickly.

He shakes his head, setting down his glass. “It’s okay, Carla. You should know all of me, not just bits and pieces.” He looks at Damon as he begins to speak.

“One mistake commonly attributed to my people, the Moors, was our failure to maintain unity,” Amari explains, his voice growing calm and thoughtful. “This weakness allowed the Christian Reconquista to succeed and had long-lasting effects on history.”

His eyes grow distant as he continues, talking about the fragmentation of the once-unified Caliphate of Córdoba, how it weakened their ability to resist Christian kingdoms. The loss of their cultural and scientific legacy, the religious divisions that followed.

“The depiction of Moors as ‘foreign invaders’ in European history, despite our centuries-long presence in Iberia, perpetuated narratives of ‘otherness’ that still shape discussions of immigration, race, and identity today,” he says, his voice heavy with regret.

Damon pulls a coin from his pocket, flipping it absently as he joins the conversation. “The Romans made similar mistakes,” he says. “Our overreliance on lead in plumbing, cookware, and food preservation has consequences that still affect the world today.”

He explains how the Latin word for lead, plumbum, is the root of “plumbing,” how Roman-era lead pollution can still be detected in Arctic ice cores, how it may have contributed to the decline of the Roman elite.

“Today, concerns about lead persist in everything from paint to gasoline,” Damon concludes.

Amari nods, then his expression darkens. “But one of the most significant mistakes Europeans made, which continues to affect the world today, is the exploitation and colonization of other regions, particularly Africa, Asia, and the Americas.”

He details how European powers divided territories without regard for existing ethnic or cultural boundaries, creating artificial borders that have led to long-standing conflicts.

The transatlantic slave trade and its legacy of systemic racial inequalities.

The economic exploitation and resource drain that left formerly colonized nations impoverished while European countries became wealthy global powers.

I can see the guilt in his eyes, the weight of history pressing down on him. Amari clears his throat, his grip tightening around his wine glass.

“In the United States, the institutionalization of systemic racism—through slavery, segregation, and discriminatory policies—continues to affect society today,” he says, emotion evident in his words.

“Even after slavery was abolished, the structures that supported it were woven into American laws, economics, and culture.”

He lists the ongoing effects: the racial wealth gap, mass incarceration, segregation and housing discrimination, healthcare disparities, environmental racism, gerrymandering and voter suppression, police brutality, education inequality.

“I witnessed it all,” Amari says, his voice dropping to a near-whisper.

“I saw Denmark Vesey in 1822, planning one of the most extensive slave rebellions in American history. The white authorities caught wind of the plot and executed him along with 34 others. I watched as they paraded his body through the streets as a warning.”

His jaw shifts. “I was there in 1831 when Nat Turner led his rebellion. When they finally caught him, they skinned him alive. They made purses and lampshades from his skin, kept his fingers in jars of vinegar. I stood in the shadows as they created ‘souvenirs’ from his body parts.”

A shudder runs through me at the horror in his voice.

“In 1859, I witnessed John Brown’s raid on Harpers Ferry. He was a white abolitionist who believed armed insurrection was the only way to overthrow slavery. They hanged him, but his actions helped spark the Civil War.”

Amari’s eyes are haunted. “Even after slavery was abolished, the lynchings continued. I saw thousands—Emmett Till in 1955, just 14 years old, mutilated and murdered for allegedly flirting with a white woman. James Byrd Jr. in 1998, dragged behind a pickup truck until his body was torn apart.”

He pauses, collecting himself. “I built Medina Corp to try and help as many melanated people as possible escape the systems that continue to oppress them.”

“This isn’t your cross to bear, Amari,” Damon interrupts.

“No, you’re wrong,” Amari says firmly. “I am very much part of the problem.”

“King Amir warned you about meddling in human affairs,” Damon reminds him. “You’re a vampire bound by the laws of Mother Fate and King Amir.”

“And I’ve followed my orders as best I could. But sitting back and watching those horrors,” Amari argues, “doing nothing makes me complicit. I won’t let that happen.”

I place my hand on his thigh, feeling the tension in his muscles. “It’s okay, Amari. What you’re doing is admirable. You’re an amazing man for it.”

He smiles at me, some of the darkness lifting from his expression.

Our moment is interrupted by a woman approaching our table. She’s stunning—tall and curvy, with short romantic curls framing her face and a dress that leaves little to the imagination. She leans in close to Amari, running her hand over his suit jacket in a slow, suggestive motion.

“Amari,” she purrs, “I thought that was you.”

Amari stiffens beside me, and I notice Selene grinning behind her wine glass as Damon watches with interest.

“Allison,” Amari says, emotion threading through his words.

“You remember me,” she says, sounding pleased. She looks at me and frowns, her eyes taking in my dress, my hair, my entire being. I feel myself shrinking under her gaze, tugging my dress down to cover more of my thighs, crossing my arms over my chest.

Amari notices and glares at Allison. “What do you want?”

“I’ve been wondering why you haven’t been back to Midnight Moon,” she says, trailing her finger along his collar. “I’ve been coming every night, hoping you’d come for that raincheck.”

“Raincheck?” I repeat, my voice small.

Something cold settles in my stomach. Has he been using the same lines with me that he’s been using with other women? Was I just another conquest to him before his heart started beating?

I pull the napkin from my lap and stand from my chair. “I’ll wait for you outside. I don’t want to see this.”

Amari grabs my arm. “Carla, wait?—”

I snatch my arm away from him. “It’s fine,” I say, looking to Damon and Selene, trying not to cry as I force a smile. “Thank you for a lovely dinner.”

A movement in the vents catches my attention. I look up to see Moria’s multiple eyes peering at me through the slats, and I manage a genuine smile at the sight of her.

Amari starts to stand, but Allison sits in his lap, wrapping her arms around his neck. “Let her go,” she says. “I know what you need.”

“Thank you again for dinner,” I say to Damon and Selene, my voice barely holding steady.

Damon clears his throat and starts to rise, but I’m already walking away, moving as fast as I can without breaking into a run.

I head to the hostess stand to retrieve my jacket, but the woman is busy with angry customers demanding a refund for being “forced to dine with supernaturals.” One of the men notices me and turns, his face contorting with disgust.

“Look at this,” he snarls, getting in my face. “Another dirty supernatural. A witch bitch.”

He’s a big man, at least a head taller than me, dressed in an expensive suit. Two women stand behind him—one older, likely his wife, and a teenage girl, both in elegant dresses.

“I’m the last person you want to mess with,” I warn him, pushing him away from me.

His hand curls into a fist, and he steps closer. “I’m not putting up with this shit or these disgusting supernaturals.”

I close my eyes and brace myself for the impact, already feeling the sting of tears threatening to spill. This night has gone from beautiful to disastrous in a matter of minutes.

Just before his fist connects, a familiar voice rings out sharply through the restaurant.

“Touch her, and it will be the last thing you do.”