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Chapter Forty

Joy

A loud slam drove me out of my chair, spilling my glass of wine. The crimson liquid splashed across my dress and onto the polished hardwood floor, looking disturbingly like blood in the firelight. My heart climbed into my throat, pulsing so hard it stole the air from my lungs.

Not again. Please don’t let it be Maximo.

The memory of his cold eyes flashed through my mind, the way he’d looked at me like I was merchandise to be sold.

My fingers trembled as I set down what remained of my glass.

Elena and Gianna had gone rigid, their preternatural stillness somehow more frightening than any sudden movement would have been.

I wouldn’t let him hurt Serenity. The thought burned through my fear, igniting something deeper, more primal. A protective rage exploded within me, scorching and sudden. My focus turned inward, searching for that strange power I’d conjured before—the shadows that had answered my desperate calls.

This time, they responded immediately, as if they’d been waiting just beneath my skin.

Tingles rippled over my arms like thousands of tiny electrical currents, dancing across my flesh in intricate patterns.

The chill raced down my spine, clashing with a burn that curled around my ribs.

I knew this power—but like lightning in my veins, it never let me forget who was really in control.

A misty wall materialized before us, dark and swirling like smoke given purpose. It wasn’t solid, yet somehow I knew it would protect all of us. The shadows bent to my will, stretching from floor to ceiling, their edges rippling with energy that tasted like midnight on my tongue.

But then a blur came down the stairs and a guard appeared, his fangs pulled back, and holding a sword.

He skidded to a halt before my shadow wall, his massive frame imposing even through the swirling darkness.

His eyes widened in surprise, not at the threat of an intruder, but at the barrier I’d created.

“What the—” he began but was cut off as another figure burst through the door behind us, moving so fast he was just a rush of displaced air.

Enzo.

His eyes were wild, fangs fully extended, his entire body radiating lethal intent.

For a heartbeat, he seemed almost feral, dangerous in a way that made my breath catch.

Then his gaze found mine through the shadow wall, and something in his expression shifted—the beast recognizing what belonged to him.

“Joy?”

My fear dissipated along with the shadows. He crossed the room with predatory purpose, every movement controlled yet radiating raw power. When he drew me into his arms, it wasn’t a request but a claim.

“Are you safe?” he demanded, his eyes scanning over me with cold calculation before returning to my face.

His grip tightened slightly, possessive in a way that should have frightened me but somehow didn’t.

“Did anyone touch you?” Every syllable pulsed with restrained fury, a barely leashed promise that harm would be answered with blood.

I shook my head, but the movement was shaky, betraying the storm still churning inside me.

Enzo’s arms remained locked around me, a barrier of strength against the world, yet my pulse refused to settle.

“No. I’m fine.” The words were a fragile lie, barely holding together.

“Why?” The question rasped out of me, raw and breathless, as a cold edge of panic sliced through my chest.

The memory of being locked in that metal box—alone in suffocating darkness—clawed at the back of my mind. I tipped my head back, desperate, my gaze locking into his. Those stormy amber eyes my anchor in the chaos. I needed him to tell me I was safe. That they wouldn’t take me again.

Before he could answer, the atmosphere in the room shifted, growing heavier as if the very air recognized an apex predator had entered.

Angelo Santi walked into the room like a dark force, his presence commanding attention without effort.

Dark ichor stained his expensive suit and marked his hands—not human blood, but something else, something that smelled faintly of sulfur and decay.

His long, curly black hair fell past his shoulders in perfect waves, framing a face that seemed carved from marble by a Renaissance master.

But it was his fierce green eyes that truly captured attention—ancient, knowing eyes that seemed to glow with an inner light, assessing everything with the cold calculation of a man who had seen centuries of betrayal and survival.

My breath hitched at the sight of him—not just for his overwhelming presence, but for what clung to him now.

His suit hung in tatters, slashed by claws or worse, streaked with smears of something too dark, too wrong to be called blood.

Beneath the grime, faint bruises bloomed, and his knuckles were split open, raw and reddened.

These men had faced demons tonight—monsters not born of this world—and they had bled, suffered, for the sake of a promise made to me. A promise they refused to break.

A strange sense of gratitude mingled with my fear as I realized the extent of what they had done. They had risked themselves against creatures powerful enough to frighten even them, and they had done it because Enzo had given his word to me—a human he barely knew.

He moved with the silent, stalking elegance of a jungle cat, every step deliberate yet fluid.

Power radiated from him in almost tangible waves, the kind that made my instincts scream to either flee or submit.

I found myself unconsciously pressing back against Enzo, seeking protection from this more dominant predator, even as I couldn’t tear my gaze away.

Angelo headed straight for Serenity, his expression transforming subtly at the sight of her—the only softening in his otherwise impenetrable facade.

He was fierce looking—handsome and dangerous in equal measure, the kind of man who would be mesmerizing even without supernatural abilities.

Dressed in what was clearly a custom-tailored suit despite its damaged and bloodied state, every inch of him spoke of wealth, control, and absolute authority.

This was a man who had ordered deaths without blinking, who had built and maintained an empire through blood and fear.

This was the angel of death my father had warned me about.

I held my breath as his attention swept the room, those ancient green eyes briefly meeting mine before moving on.

“Something hid in the clouds, but it’s gone,” he said, his voice deep and resonant, carrying a slight Italian accent that had likely survived centuries of American living. Each word was measured, precise, revealing only what he intended to share.

Enzo whispered in my ear as he stroked the back of my head. “I’ll always keep you safe. No one will hurt you—not even him.”

“Sorry I’m late to the party,” Dimitri drawled, casually wiping at a spot of blood near his mouth with his thumb, which he then licked clean with theatrical relish.

“Had to stop and admire the stars. You know, take time to appreciate the little things in undeath.” His gaze landed on me, and one eyebrow arched upward.

“Well, hello there, shadow girl. Impressive trick earlier. Didn’t know humans could do that anymore. ”

Gianna broke away from the group, her composed demeanor shattering as she ran into his arms with vampiric speed.

He caught her effortlessly, spinning her once before setting her down, leaving faint smears of blood on her silk blouse that she didn’t seem to notice or care about. His expression softened for just a moment—a brief glimpse of sincerity before the mask of sarcasm slipped back into place.

He laughed, the sound rich and somehow both warm and mocking at once.

“Missed me?” he asked, brushing a strand of hair from her face with exaggerated tenderness, careful to use a finger that wasn’t stained with blood.

“It’s only been what—three hours? Though I suppose that’s practically an eternity when you’re as gorgeous as I am.

And when you’ve been having as much fun as I have.

” The last words carried a darker edge, his eyes briefly flashing with the memory of violence.

Despite the flippancy of his words, I noticed how his arm remained protectively around Gianna’s waist, his body subtly positioned between her and the rest of the room.

For all his cavalier attitude and blood-stained appearance, there was something genuine in how he held her—a protective instinct that contradicted his devil-may-care facade.

I clutched Enzo’s blood-soaked shirt, my fingers digging into the ruined fabric. The sticky wetness against my skin should have repulsed me, but all I could think about were those terrified girls. “What about the other girls?”

“They’re coming.” Enzo cupped my face, his thumb gently stroking my cheek as if I were something precious. “Your brother and Pascal are in the limo and it’s warded. No one will harm them as they make their way here.” The certainty in his voice was like a balm to my frayed nerves.

My heart lurched painfully at the mention of Steve. My brother. A vampire. The certainty in Enzo’s voice about their safety should have been comforting, but all I could think about was facing Steve again—not as the brother who used to sneak me extra Halloween candy, but something else entirely.

He was vicious now. Terrifying. A member of the most notorious mafia family in NOLA. And I’d watched him prove it. I’ll never forget the way he ripped out Henry’s throat—ruthless, efficient—and fed on him like a starving animal.

No hesitation.

The image haunted me more than I wanted to admit.

How would he look at me now? Would his eyes hold the same hunger I’d seen in other vampires? In his hunger would he even recognize me as his sister—or was that boy, the one who taught me how to throw a punch and stood between me and every bully, already gone?

And worse…

Would I see him as my brother?

Or as a monster?

“Steve,” I whispered, his name catching in my throat. “Is he... is he okay? I mean—” I struggled to find the right words. How do you ask if your brother is adjusting to being undead? If he’s managing his cravings for human blood? If he’s still the person you’ve loved your whole life?

Enzo’s expression softened with understanding. “He fought well tonight. He’s... adapting.” The careful choice of words told me everything I needed to know. Steve was struggling, but he was trying.

“That’s what you think,” Angelo muttered, his tone carrying centuries of authority and finality.

A sense of fear settled in my heart, cold and insistent.

There was a definite tension between Angelo and Enzo about my brother, something that set my nerves on fire.

The way Angelo’s eyes had hardened, the subtle shift in Enzo’s stance—more protective, slightly challenging—told me there was history here, rules I didn’t understand.

Enzo’s arm tightened around my waist, drawing me closer to his side. He bent his head, his lips almost brushing my ear as he whispered, “Don’t worry about Steve. I won’t let anything happen to him. He’s under my protection now.”

When I looked up at him, the intensity in his dark eyes stole my breath.

Gone was the cold, calculating enforcer—in his place was something else entirely.

His gaze held the same fierce devotion I’d seen in Angelo’s eyes when he looked at Serenity, a possessiveness that should have frightened me but instead made my heart race for entirely different reasons.

“Angelo,” Serenity chided, cutting through the remaining tension like sunlight melting frost. She placed her hand on his chest, a simple gesture that seemed to anchor him. “Leave him be.”

He gazed down at her, and the transformation was immediate and profound.

The lethal predator softened, his fierce green eyes warming as they took in her face.

After a heartbeat, he bent his head and kissed her—a gesture so tender it seemed almost sacred, at odds with the violence his hands had clearly dealt tonight.

The moment was silent for now, the conflict temporarily shelved but not forgotten. I leaned into Enzo’s strength, drawing comfort from his presence. Whatever storm was brewing around my brother, at least he wouldn’t face it alone.

All the stress that had been building inside me, keeping my adrenaline on red alert for what felt like days, slowly eased away.

My shoulders sagged with relief, and I felt lightheaded as the tension drained from my body.

“Thank God.” The words came out as a whisper, a prayer of gratitude.

I suddenly became aware of my own state—sweat-dampened clothes clinging uncomfortably to my skin, hair tangled from the flight with Serenity, the lingering scent of fear. “Is there someplace I can freshen up?”

“Yes.” Enzo clasped my hand, his cool fingers interlacing with mine in a gesture that felt surprisingly intimate.

His eyes lingered on my face, studying me with an intensity that made my heart skip.

The softness in his usually hard gaze stirred something warm in my chest—something I wasn’t ready to name.

“I need to change as well.”

“We need to regroup soon,” Angelo said, but he wasn’t looking at us.

His gaze was focused on Serenity, a mixture of fierce protection and tender concern transforming his dangerous features.

The vampire king looked at my best friend as if she were the sun after centuries of darkness—a reverence that seemed at odds with everything I’d heard about the angel of death.

The way these deadly men looked at the women they loved made me wonder what it would be like to be cherished by someone who could tear the world apart to keep you safe. The thought sent a shiver down my spine that wasn’t entirely from fear.

As if sensing my thoughts, Enzo stepped closer, his hand settling at the small of my back, fingers splayed in quiet possession. His touch was light, but his stance made it clear—anyone coming for me would have to go through him.

This should have terrified me. Instead, I found myself leaning into his touch, craving more of this dangerous connection that had sparked between us.