I fought back a smile. If he only knew how right he was. “Yeah,” I said, keeping my voice carefully neutral. “Stress can definitely play tricks on your mind.”
Joy put her glass down, the plastic making a soft click against the chipped counter. I could see the exact moment she made her decision—the way her spine straightened, the subtle lift of her chin that meant she was done hiding. “You didn’t imagine it. I can control shadows.”
My muscles tensed at what she’d just revealed. Admitting her ability was dangerous, especially to someone we barely trusted, someone whose loyalty was still questionable at best.
Rocco studied her with the intensity of a predator recognizing another apex creature, his earlier confusion replaced by sharp intelligence. His dark eyes swept over her with new understanding, cataloging details he’d missed before—the way darkness seemed to cling to her, the unnatural stillness of the shadows in her immediate vicinity.
“Fae or Unseelie?” He’d shifted subtly, his body language changing from relaxed to alert, ready to move if her answer proved threatening.
“I’m…” Joy stammered. Vulnerability flickered over her face like a candle flame.
“Joy,” I warned. Every instinct I possessed screamed against revealing more than necessary. The less people knew about her abilities, the better I could protect her.
“You asked for my help,” Rocco said, setting his wine down on the filthy windowsill. His dark eyes held steel and royal pride,unwavering despite his disheveled appearance. “I can’t help you unless you tell me what cards are on the table.”
Joy gave me a pleading look that made my chest tighten with conflict. Her eyes were wide and desperate, shadows flickering around her like nervous energy made manifest. “He’s right, Enzo. You need to tell him.” She reached for the bottle with hands that trembled slightly, the wine sloshing as she poured herself another generous measure. The alcohol was hitting her harder than it should have—stress and exhaustion making her more susceptible to its effects.
I narrowed my eyes, letting every ounce of enforcer menace bleed into my expression as I stared at Rocco. “If you betray us…” The threat cut through the air like a sharp blade.
“I get it. I’m dead,” Rocco said as if he had heard similar threats countless times before. Maybe he had. He’d been the demon Balthazar’s prisoner in hell. Rocco took a sip of his wine, apparently unbothered by my intimidation tactics. “So is she a Fae or an Unseelie?”
I debated telling him, but he was right. I needed allies and the only true one I had was Steve. My jaw clenched as the internal war raged—truth or lie. Right now they were harder to find than water in a desert. “Unseelie,” I said finally, the word tasting like a betrayal on my tongue. “She has the gift of drawing on shadows, but when her anger gets hold of her...”
“I can’t control it,” Joy blurted. The confession spilled from her lips like poison she needed to purge, her shadows responded to her emotional state, writhing more violently around the room. “Do you know Serenity?”
Rocco looked between us curiously, his expression shifting from professional interest to something that might have been concern. “Angelo’s mate? Yes, why?” The question came out carefully, like he was already sensing the magnitude of what was coming.
“I accidentally hurt her when I found out about my father.” Tears gathered in Joy’s eyes. “She’s in a coma and it’s all my fault.” The admission hung in the room like a death sentence, heavy with guilt and the crushing weight of unintended consequences.
I watched Rocco’s face carefully, cataloging every micro-expression as the full scope of our situation became clear to him. The color drained from his cheeks as he realized exactly what kind of danger we were all in—and why Angelo would never stop hunting us.
“And now you’re running from a pissed off vampire mafia king. I’ve never known him to give up the hunt when someone has hurt the Santi family,” Rocco muttered as he poured himself another generous glass of wine. His hands were steadier now, but tension gripped his shoulders like a pit bull with a bone, his jaw working as he processed what Joy had revealed.
The wine seemed less like a luxury and more like liquid courage—or perhaps liquid comfort for someone who recognized the impossible situation we’d found ourselves in.
He lifted his head and met Joy’s gaze directly, and something shifted in his dark eyes. “I know what it’s like to be judged by something you can’t control.”
The admission hung between them like a bridge, connecting two souls who’d been broken by forces beyond them. Joy’s shoulders trembled slightly with relief—the relief of being understood, of finding someone who didn’t look at her with fear or condemnation but with genuine empathy.
Rocco shifted his gaze to mine. His expression was replaced by someone who remembered what it meant to stand by your convictions. “Yes, I’ll help you. What do you need?”
The simple question hit me harder than I expected, and something that had been tightened in my chest finally began to loosen. An ally. After so many hours of running, of calculatingodds that seemed insurmountable, we finally had someone willing to stand with us instead of against us.
“For now, just a place to hide out,” I said. The admission of being vulnerable, my inability to completely protect Joy, sat bitter on my tongue.
Rocco raised his glass in a gesture that was both casual and ceremonial, the plastic cup somehow transformed into something more significant by his intent. “My home is yours.” The ancient phrase was a promise that meant he would protect us with his life if necessary.
In that moment, surrounded by the squalor of a broken-down hotel room, drinking cheap wine from plastic cups, it felt more sacred than any oath sworn in a cathedral.
“Good.” I pulled out my phone, the device feeling heavier than usual in my hand as I prepared to make a call that could either save us or damn us all.
Joy frowned, her brows knitting together with concern as she looked warily between me and Rocco. The wine had brought a flush to her cheeks, but her eyes were slightly unfocused but alert. “What are you doing?”
“Calling that bastard Keir.” Even saying his name left a bitter taste in my mouth, like swallowing poison.
The phone barely completed its first ring before his smooth voice filled my ear. “You betrayed me, Enzo. Not a wise thing to do.” Unlike Angelo’s explosive rage, Keir’s voice was calm as still water—but the deadliness of it felt like icy fingers reaching through the phone to wrap around my throat and squeeze. The controlled menace in his tone made my skin crawl with primitive fear.
“How did I betray you?” I forced myself to remain calm, though my free hand had already clenched into a fist at my side. Joy’s shadows stirred restlessly in response to the tension radiating from my body.
