Page 14 of Moretti Blood Brothers: Vol. One Books #1-4

S tefano Russo stared out at the lush green Italian landscape laid out in front of him.

For thousands of years, his family had owned this land, and many others. Miles of rolling hills, respectable estates, and award-winning vineyards. They were wealthy, successful, and powerful.

Like all vampires, they paid taxes to the king. For what? The fuckers lay around in any one of their dozens of castles, flew in their private jets, cruised on their mega yachts, and ate from their fucking gold-plated everything that came from the money other people worked hard for.

Very rarely did he himself lift a finger, but that wasn’t the point.

The Russo’s had challenged the Moretti’s for centuries. His father, Roberto, had died at the hand of the former king, King Frances. Granted, he had challenged the throne and known the consequences, but all three of the Russo sons had been there that night, as had Vincent and Brayden Moretti.

After seeing his father’s head roll on the ground as the sword sliced cleanly through, Stefano had sworn to avenge his father.

As humanity evolved and grew more empowered, so did the unrest among the vampires. It hadn’t taken much to pick on the more vulnerable ones and stoke the fires.

Soon, there was a noisy rebellion demanding a democracy with him as their leader. They believed he would free them of their taxes—fools—and that their quality of life would improve.

He himself was a cunning businessman among the humans, and was leader of the vampire resistance. He, along with his brothers Luca and Marco, had promised the rebels—and yes, they had a Facebook group—a democracy where there was equal wealth, fair rules, and their voices heard.

With him sitting on the throne as king.

Fuck democracy. What the race needed was a strong leader. One who didn’t allow assholes like him to have freedom of thought and plan coups.

He let out a laugh.

Weak. He shivered in anticipation. The day the Moretti brothers would be weak was drawing closer.

He was playing dirty, but that’s what it took to get the Moretti’s off the throne. They were strong and impenetrable with a powerful army. But not for long.

He had an inside guy now. A vampire close to the king, and trusted. It had been an ingenious idea.

His, of course.

Now that they had the king in a weakened state, Stefano was nearly ready to attempt the coup. It was just a matter of weeks now. The only part of the puzzle still left to solve was the vampire prince.

Brayden Moretti.

Lethal, powerful, and loyal to his family, it was whispered he was even more powerful than the king.

They were not strangers; they had known each other all their lives. Every year, the Russo’s attended the ball and other society events where they rubbed shoulders, showed mock respect, and sneered at each other.

Brayden had been there the night his father had lost his head, and had spent the rest of the night celebrating and fucking.

Some had said Stefano was bitter and jealous of the fucking huge vampire. They no longer lived.

The rebellion was no secret. He had known the moment the Moretti’s had tried to infiltrate his inner circle, and he’d allowed it, feeding them the information he wanted them to know. They had underestimated his intelligence, and would pay for that arrogance.

Stefano smirked. He loved the dance of power running through his veins. It sent thrills up his spine and to his groin. He rubbed his hand over his cock.

This year, he would sit on the throne and pump his cock until he creamed all over the fucking thing.

“I’ve sent the updated instructions to LA.”

“ Eccellente! Best we prepare our costumes for the ball, brother. Send in our RSVPs.” He let go of his cock and grinned darkly at Luca, who had just stepped into the room.

Luca, a few inches shorter than his six foot three, returned an equally evil smile.

“What about the prince?”

“Keep watching him. He’ll have a weakness; everyone does. Tell them to get closer to the prince,” he instructed. “Even if we only take down Vincent Moretti this time, we’ll be one step closer.”

Marco walked in.

“And if the queen is pregnant?” his younger brother asked.

He snarled. “We kill them both. Seriously, do I have to do all the thinking? For fuck’s sake.”

Marco crossed his arms. “Really? We’re going to kill babies now?”

“A king, Marco. The kid will be a king. Or queen. Whatever,” he said, astounded by his stupidity. “What do you think we have locked away in the back rooms?”

“A remote control.” Luca sniggered.

Well, at least one of his brothers had his head in the game.

“She’s not a baby, for fuck’s sake.”

He ignored his pathetic brother, but not to the point where he overlooked the fact he might be a possible weak link in their plans.

“Go. Find out what you can about the prince. And send my tailor. I want to look my best when I take my seat on the throne.”

He might even take one of his whores to America with him. Power made him horny as hell. It was unlikely the Americans would have anything worth fucking, so BYO it was.