Chapter 15

"So, what would you like to know?" Gosto’s lips curved with an edge of amusement.

"Everything," I replied, though a thousand questions had already gathered at the tip of my tongue like fireflies waiting to burst into the night.

He laughed, and that rich, sinful sound rippled through me like silk across bare skin. My breath caught as he dragged his teeth across his bottom lip, revealing the dangerous hint of fang beneath. It sent a shiver down my spine and a wicked flutter low in my belly.

"Ask away," he murmured.

For a heartbeat, I forgot how to speak how to breathe. When I finally managed to open my mouth, the words stalled on my tongue. "Tell me about vampires. About this world you live in."

Gosto leaned forward, tucking a lock of his unruly hair behind his ear. The motion was effortless, but there was something regal and ancient in his grace.

"Some believe our origins trace back to the fallen angels," he began, voice dipped in mythology and shadow. "Long before time was fractured into realms, Earth was one. When the fallen were cast down, they lost their immortality but gained something rare the ability to reproduce. Each of them carried a gift, a curse, a power… and their children inherited those traits. The first generations were gods among mortals, and they threatened the balance of the human world. So, the realms split. The Underworld was created a mirror of your world, veiled in darkness. That’s where we were exiled."

I listened, hanging onto every word.

"Humans can cross between realms. Vampires cannot. The Mortal Realm drains us it accelerates our aging, weakens us, kills us eventually if we stay too long."

"I heard fragments of that from Diamante," I said, still reeling. "But not about the realms."

He nodded once. "Vampires are born… but they can also be made. Only those with fallen blood can create new vampires. The ritual is brutal: give your blood, bite them, and end their human life. Death is the price of rebirth."

I swallowed. "And the ones made this way? Are they… noble?"

His smile turned bitter. "No. We call them youngbloods. They’re faster, stronger than mortals, but ruled by hunger. Some inherit fragments of their maker’s power. But their thirst consumes them. Without blood, they go mad. They can tolerate the sun here in the Underworld, but in your realm… it burns them to ash."

His gaze lingered on mine, gauging my every flinch.

"So the vampire myths from my world… they're about youngbloods?"

"Exactly. Most who break through to the Mortal Realm eventually expose themselves. Bloodlust strips them of restraint. They kill indiscriminately. Two hundred years ago, the Night Council forbade creating new youngbloods. A special unit of hunters was formed to cleanse them. It’s slow work. They only target those who draw attention."

I gave him a crooked smile. "So it's not about protecting humans, is it?"

"Of course not." His voice darkened. "It’s about secrecy. Survival. If youngbloods remain, they will be hunted. But as long as they stay hidden, disposing of their prey quietly, they may linger for decades before they’re caught."

Decades. Fifty years might have been nothing to him but it was a lifetime of deaths. And those who fed on the girls in Velluto Nero weren’t any better. Gosto was the owner. He must have known about Lelia and Lucilla. Did he just… allow it?

"Domitilla." His voice grounded me again. "Ask me anything. I won’t lie to you."

The weight of his promise stirred something dangerous in me. "Tell me about the club," I said. "Velluto Nero. I want the truth."

His expression shifted, the playfulness vanishing behind something older, harder. Guilt? Rage?

"The club is mine, yes but it was never meant to be. The king assigned it to me." His jaw clenched. "Velluto Nero means ‘Black Velvet.’ It was designed to be a veil a place where vampires could feed discreetly. The last owner didn’t care about the cost in human lives. He let youngbloods in. There were no rules. No consequences. Not until a councilman’s favorite plaything got herself killed. That changed everything. I took over… but it wasn’t clean. I had to compromise." His voice dropped. "Including accepting Ireneo and Pacifico his nephews."

My chest tightened. "Do you know what happened to Lelia and Lucilla? They’re twins, they"

"I know who they were."

The past tense hit me like a blow.

"I had to leave. So did Ermes. We knew those two would cause trouble, but we had no choice…"

"What happened?" I whispered.

Gosto's gaze met mine with brutal honesty. "Prince Anselmo brought friends. One of them was a half-blood bad compulsion skills. Lelia was assigned to him. She woke up mid-feed. She panicked. He panicked. He snapped her neck."

I felt nothing and everything. My throat burned, but no sound came.

"Lucilla?"

"Fosco handled her. Told her it was an accident. Compelled her to leave. His ability is... intense. His suggestions can bury themselves for decades. We gave her enough to live comfortably, for the rest of her life."

"You think money and mind control make things right?" I snapped, wrenching my hand from his reach.

Gosto’s laugh was cold and sharp. "We're not saints. But neither are humans. I did what I could…" His eyes darkened, lips twitching with a shadowed smile. "For now."

I stared at him, shaken. For a second, I saw something monstrous in him—something ageless and lethal. Then, as quickly as it came, it faded.

"So… the room I woke up in?"

His smirk returned. "Yours. If you want anything clothes, books, ask. It’s your space now."

"Thanks," I murmured.

"You'll have a guard. He’ll escort you. Protect you."

"From who?" I narrowed my eyes. "Do you think someone will hurt me here?"

"It’s temporary," he assured. "He’ll respect your privacy."

"So I can go wherever I want?"

He hesitated. "Not quite. There will be times when you must stay put. It’s for your safety."

"That’s not enough," I challenged. "I deserve to know why."

His gaze turned molten. "It’s your blood, Domitilla." He leaned closer. "Your scent alone could drive even the oldest vampire to madness. Your blood… it’s an aphrodisiac."

"But Diamante treated me she was fine."

"Only because I made her feed first. Blunted her instincts."

I placed a trembling hand to my chest. "The wound’s healing. I’ll be careful not to bleed."

"You don’t understand," he said quietly. "Even without injury, your scent betrays what your blood tastes like. It’s... divine."

I stared, and my heart pounded. "You’re a strong vampire."

He nodded slowly.

"Are you tempted to taste me?"

The hunger in his gaze needed no words, but he gave them anyway.

"I’m madly tempted," he confessed, voice low and dangerous.

My breath came in shaky pulls. "But you can resist... can’t you?"

A slow, wicked smirk curled his lips.

"I resist it," he whispered, gaze slipping to my lips… then my neck… "barely."