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Chapter One

Joy

I sat on the edge of my queen-sized bed in this gilded cage that Maximo Barone called a guest room. The space wasn’t terrible—a bookshelf, a dresser, and a private bathroom with both tub and shower. Such luxuries. As if comfortable furnishings could make up for the bars on the windows.

“Another beautiful day in the Barone compound,” I whispered, my forced cheerfulness echoing in the emptiness. The habit of finding something positive had kept me going through everything—even now, when I was technically a “guest” rather than a prisoner.

The bars on the windows mocked my escape plans. Before all this, I’d never given much thought to supernatural strength—and why would I?

Humans don’t bend steel with their bare hands.

Humans don’t vanish into the night.

Humans don’t drain the life from others with a touch.

Six weeks ago, I didn’t know any of this existed. Six weeks ago, I was normal. Then they took me, and the veil between my mundane world and theirs was violently torn away.

Light filtered through those impenetrable bars, catching dust motes that danced in the air. Maximo’s family knew all about the supernatural world—they’d been entangled with it for generations. They claimed this was for my protection, but protection felt a lot like captivity when you couldn’t leave.

Maximo, head of the Barone family, said I was being hunted by Enzo DiSalvo—the Santi family’s enforcer.

The Barone family spoke about him in hushed whispers as if they were afraid he could hear them, their voices trembling slightly, eyes darting to the darkened corners of the room.

My own heartbeat quickened at the mere mention of his name, each thud a countdown to what felt inevitable—yet strangely, not entirely unwelcome.

I had only seen him once at what was supposed to be the vampire mafia king’s execution.

His presence was burned in my mind. The chaos erupted just as the executioner raised his blade—an elaborate rescue unfolding with deadly precision.

While Enzo fought through guards with supernatural speed, his long dark curls whipping around his face, a harpy descended from the sky with a bone-chilling screech, talons extended.

The creature had grabbed Angelo Santi and carried him to freedom, leaving behind a stunned crowd and bloodied bodies.

But what I remembered most vividly were Enzo’s amber eyes finding mine across the courtyard as he cut down a guard.

Something in that gaze—intense and calculating—had sent a current through me that wasn’t entirely fear.

He had looked at me as if he knew me, as if I were part of something larger.

That single moment had haunted me since.

According to Maximo, Enzo was a master at hiding in the shadows then attacking his prey.

The thought sent a chill crawling up my spine like icy fingers, making the hairs on my arms stand on end.

But with the fear came something else—something I was ashamed to admit even to myself.

An image of him flashed unbidden through my mind: those haunting amber eyes that seemed to glow with inner fire; the way his long, dark curly hair framed his face like a Renaissance painting come to life.

At night, I found myself unconsciously backing away from windows and doorways, my body responding to the threat before my mind could process it fully—yet part of me wondered what it would be like if those shadows brought him to me instead.

Maximo said that once on his list, his victims had little hope of surviving him—a fact that settled in my stomach like lead, heavy and poisonous.

How could someone so lethal move with such grace?

How could hands that dealt death so efficiently look so elegant?

My conflicted feelings twisted inside me like snakes; disgust at my own fascination, fear of his purpose, and beneath it all, an undeniable curiosity about the man behind the monster.

Sleep had become impossible, though not solely from fear.

Every creak of the floorboards, every whisper of wind against the window, made me jolt upright, breath caught painfully in my throat—half terrified, half hoping to see those amber eyes watching me from the darkness.

He was just as ruthless as Angelo Santi—the vampire mafia king.

But unlike Angelo, who operated in plain sight, Enzo was the shadow you never saw coming until his fangs were already at your throat.

The knowledge pressed down on me, a constant weight that bent my shoulders and hollowed out my usually bright spirit, replacing sunshine with a dangerous twilight of dread and forbidden fascination.

The memories haunted me in layers—first my own father, eyes black and empty as the thing possessing him used his fists against me.

The bruises had faded, but the terror remained, a phantom pain that never truly healed.

Then came that final night of chaos—demons taking Gianna, her screams echoing through the halls as they dragged her into the darkness.

Dimitri’s rage had been terrible to witness, his power rippling through the air like heat waves as he tore through anyone in his path to reach her.

And then the image I couldn’t erase. Steve, my brother, with Enzo’s fangs at his throat.

Blood. So much blood. The crimson stain spreading across Steve’s shirt, his eyes wide with shock, his hand reaching toward me.

I screamed at Enzo not to kill him, and he stopped feeding on him. Why would he do that? The memory played on repeat in my mind: the way Enzo’s head snapped up at the sound of my voice, his gaze locking with mine from across the courtyard, blood still wet on his lips.

Something shifted in his expression, a flicker of.

.. recognition? Restraint? Whatever it was, his fangs had retracted, and he’d lowered my brother to the ground with an almost gentle care that seemed completely at odds with the violence of moments before.

Then darkness as Maximo’s guards dragged me away, my throat raw from screaming my brother’s name.

No one would tell me what happened after I lost consciousness. Just sympathetic glances and vague assurances that I was “safer here.” Their silence was its own kind of torture, leaving my imagination to fill the gaps with increasingly horrific scenarios.

When I did manage to sleep, I dreamed of graveyards and empty coffins, of my brother and father calling my name from the shadows.

During the day, I caught myself staring at doors whenever they opened, hoping against hope to see a familiar face, to hear news—any news—that would end this crushing uncertainty.

I walked to the window, pressing my palm against the cool glass between the bars. The Barone estate stretched out below, beautiful and fortified. A prison with gardens and marble fountains was still a prison.

I wasn’t the only prisoner in this compound.

Maximo dealt in human trafficking and the girls who were housed here in other locked rooms like mine.

Some of them weren’t even sixteen. If I could get word to my father, a detective in the New Orleans Police department, somehow, I know could save them. That is, if he wasn’t still possessed.

I couldn’t stomach knowing the life those poor girls would live.

Even in this place, I had made a friend: Zoe Moore.

She was a newly kidnapped girl, and according to Maximo, a virgin which would increase her price.

That made me sick. She had attended Crescent Moon University like my best friend Serenity and me.

Serenity had been the first one to go missing that I knew of, and I had looked everywhere for her until I was kidnapped too.

Crescent Moon seemed to be the place to kidnap girls and sell them at an auction. It had to be stopped.

I leaned my forehead against the glass, wishing I could break it, but even if I did, I could never get past the iron bars.

I saw Zoe’s face—her trembling smile when I’d snuck her extra food yesterday, the whispered dreams of seeing her little brother again.

Maybe that’s why I connected with her. I wanted to see mine too.

My chest swelled with a bittersweet mixture of hope and heartache.

My father and my brother, Steve, had both been possessed.

The thought made my heart ache with a pain so familiar it had become almost comfortable.

I hadn’t seen my father since he beat me.

But I had no idea whether either one of them was alive.

Answers were fleeting shadows, always dancing just beyond my reach.

I turned at the sound of the door unlocking. Straightening my shoulders, I called up my brightest smile—my most effective weapon in this household of secrets.

“Good morning!” I greeted Frank Morelli, my guard, with unnecessary enthusiasm that masked the tremor in my heart.

He was built like The Rock; even his head was shaved, making me wonder if The Rock was his hero.

He had on a blue suit with a red tie, looking as immovable and unyielding as the bars on my window. “Isn’t it just the most perfect day?”

His customary grimace only made my smile widen, though it took effort to keep it from faltering.

The Barones might control my movements, but they couldn’t control my spirit—at least, that’s what I kept telling myself on the days when hope felt like a luxury I couldn’t afford.

Behind every cheerful word was a purpose—to disarm, to observe, to gather information that might lead to answers about Steve, about Enzo, about everything that had happened to me.

One way or another, I would find the truth—even in a house run by a man like Maximo Barone.

Frank didn’t have my usual tray of a chocolate croissant, chicory coffee, and a scrambled egg. I never got a choice on what I got to eat, but I had to admit it was good. My stomach tightened with apprehension at this break in routine.

Frank bowed slightly, his expression softening just a fraction—the closest thing to kindness I’d seen from him. “Mister Barone wants you to join him for breakfast.”

It sounded like a request, but I knew better. I hadn’t been able to make my own choice since I was kidnapped. A cold knot formed in my gut even as I kept my smile plastered firmly in place to hide the pain simmering below the surface.

“Of course. I’d be happy to join him.”

Frank gestured toward the door with his arm, his movement stiff and formal.

I braced my shoulders back, hoping Maximo wasn’t going to drop another bomb on me like he had about the vampire mafia king’s execution.

My stomach twisted into knots at the memory.

What they had done to Angelo had been brutal, and then the prince beating his own mother.

.. The images flashed unbidden behind my eyes, as vivid and horrifying as when I’d witnessed them.

Sometimes I woke up in a cold sweat dreaming about that horrible day, my nightgown clinging to my skin, a silent scream trapped in my throat.

I had wanted to help both Angelo and Mara, the queen of the vampires, but I’d been helpless, shackled like a prisoner.

The phantom weight of those chains still haunted my wrists, a constant reminder of my powerlessness.

The memory squeezed my chest tight, making it hard to breathe, yet somehow I managed to keep my smile from faltering as I followed Frank down the hallway.

Maximo sat at the head of the dining room table.

His dark hair was cut shorter than when I’d first arrived, the silver at his temples catching the morning light streaming through the tall windows.

Instead of his usual tailored suit, he wore a crisp white shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his forearms, revealing a gold watch at his wrist. There was an empty place setting next to him, delicate porcelain cups and saucers waiting beside silver coffee service.

The scent of freshly baked pastries and rich coffee hung in the air, though Maximo’s own plate remained untouched as he studied a newspaper spread before him.

Frank pulled out the chair and I slid into it.

“Good morning,” I said. “You wished to see me.”

“You’re gonna start practicing with Marsha—learning about that magic of yours. Your first lesson starts today.” A shiver ran down my spine, raising goosebumps along my arms that I tried to hide by hugging myself tighter.

Marsha Cadieux was Simon Cartier’s enforcer: his personal attack dog. She was cruel in ways that made hardened men look away. I had seen her handiwork on the other girls, my breath catching at the memory of bruises blooming on pale skin, the hollow-eyed stares of those who’d crossed her.

As a witch, Marsha had options beyond physical punishment.

She could hurt the girls with a spell or, when she was in the mood for something more personal, just plain beat them bloody.

Simon used her when he needed to send messages—permanent ones.

The thought made my heart stutter with dread, my shoulders hunching involuntarily as I imagined her hands, always adorned with those heavy silver rings, coming anywhere near me.

“I keep telling you that I don’t have any magic. I’m not like Serenity. I can’t heal anyone.”

Maximo took a bite of eggs, chewing slowly, deliberately, as if savoring not just his breakfast but the fear radiating from me.

My throat tightened watching how casually he discussed my fate between mouthfuls of food.

The silver fork gleamed in his hand, another reminder of the wealth he’d built on others’ suffering.

“If you don’t, then you’re of no value to me and I will put you on the market.

” The words landed like stones in my stomach.

He didn’t bother to look up as he delivered this death sentence, just continued eating as though he’d merely commented on the weather.

The mundane normalcy of it—the genuine indifference—terrified me more than any shouting ever could.