Eternal Ties 2

Marco De Luca walked through the narrow alleyways of New York City, the shadows clinging to him like an old friend. The darkness was where he thrived, where his true nature was free to surface without constraint. The city’s pulse beat beneath his feet, a rhythm he had come to dominate, control, and exploit. Tonight, however, something was different. Tonight, the hunger gnawed at him more fiercely than usual, and he knew exactly why.

He could still smell her. Naomi.

It had been years since he had allowed himself to even think about her, years since he had forced himself to believe that she was better off without him. But seeing her tonight, feeling the familiar pull of her presence, had brought everything crashing back with the intensity of a storm.

Marco stopped at the edge of a rooftop, overlooking the city below. The wind tugged at his coat, a sharp contrast to the heat simmering inside him. His eyes glinted in the moonlight, a predator’s gaze locked onto his prey. He had never intended to cross paths with Naomi again—not after what he had become, not after he had risen to power in the world of shadows and blood. But fate, it seemed, had other plans.

He had wanted to speak to her, to explain, but he knew there was no easy way to tell her the truth. Not when that truth involved bloodshed, violence, and a transformation into something she could never understand. The memory of her scent, her voice, the fire in her eyes when she demanded answers—all of it ignited a hunger that only she could satisfy. But it was more than just physical hunger. It was the ache of unfinished business, of a love that had been buried but never truly died.

Marco clenched his jaw, the sharp pain of his fangs pressing against his gums. The thirst was rising, and he knew he needed to feed soon. But it wasn’t just any blood he craved. The thought of sinking his teeth into Naomi’s flesh, of claiming her as his in the most primal way, sent a thrill through him that he hadn’t felt in years. She was his, whether she knew it or not.

But first, there were other matters to attend to.

With a swift movement, Marco leaped from the rooftop, landing silently in the alley below. The darkness enveloped him, hiding him from the mortal eyes that might glance his way. He moved with the grace of a shadow, his senses heightened, every sound and scent guiding him toward his target.

The city was his hunting ground, and he ruled it with an iron fist. The Sangue Scuro, the vampiric mafia he led, was feared and respected in equal measure. They controlled the flow of blood, money, and power, and anyone who dared to challenge them met a swift and brutal end. But tonight, Marco’s mind was not on his empire. Tonight, his thoughts were consumed by Naomi and the man he had become.

As he rounded a corner, Marco’s keen senses picked up the presence of his men. They had gathered outside a decrepit warehouse on the outskirts of the city, a place that had once been used to store illicit goods but now served a far darker purpose. He approached them, his steps silent, his presence commanding respect without the need for words.

“Boss,” one of his lieutenants greeted him, bowing his head slightly in deference. “We’ve secured the area. The traitor is inside.”

Marco’s lips curled into a cold smile. “Good. I’ve been waiting to deal with this personally.”

He entered the warehouse, the heavy door creaking on its hinges as it swung open. Inside, the air was thick with the scent of fear and desperation. The room was dimly lit, the only illumination coming from a single flickering bulb hanging from the ceiling. In the center of the room, a man was tied to a chair, his face bloodied and bruised. He looked up as Marco approached, his eyes wide with terror.

“Please,” the man begged, his voice shaking. “I didn’t mean to betray you. I was forced—”

“Silence.” Marco’s voice cut through the man’s pleas like a blade. He stepped closer, his eyes narrowing as he studied the traitor. “You dared to betray the Sangue Scuro. You dared to betray me.”

The man whimpered, his fear palpable. “I’m sorry, I—”

Marco’s hand shot out, gripping the man’s throat with a vice-like grip. He lifted him from the chair effortlessly, holding him aloft as he struggled to breathe. Marco’s eyes darkened, the predator within him fully awakened.

“Sorry doesn’t save you,” Marco growled, his voice low and menacing. “You knew the rules, and you broke them. Now, you will pay the price.”

The man’s eyes bulged as Marco tightened his grip, cutting off his air supply. He thrashed and gasped, his hands clawing at Marco’s arm, but it was futile. Marco could feel the man’s pulse racing beneath his fingers, the scent of fear and adrenaline mixing with the smell of blood. It was intoxicating.

But Marco wasn’t finished. He needed to send a message.

With a swift motion, Marco sank his fangs into the man’s neck, tearing through flesh and muscle with ease. The man let out a strangled cry as the blood flowed freely, filling Marco’s mouth with the taste of iron and life. He drank deeply, savoring the power that surged through him with each swallow. The man’s struggles grew weaker, his life draining away with every drop of blood that Marco consumed.

When he finally released the man, his body slumped to the floor, lifeless. Marco licked the blood from his lips, his hunger sated for the moment. He looked down at the corpse, feeling nothing but cold satisfaction. The traitor had paid for his betrayal, and the Sangue Scuro’s power remained unchallenged.

But even as the bloodlust faded, the image of Naomi lingered in Marco’s mind. He had dealt with one problem tonight, but there was another that needed his attention. He couldn’t leave things unfinished with her, not when she was the only person who had ever made him feel… human.

Marco turned to his lieutenant, who had watched the execution with impassive eyes. “Clean this up,” he ordered, his voice cold and detached. “And make sure everyone knows what happens to those who betray us.”

The lieutenant nodded, quickly signaling the others to begin their work. Marco left the warehouse, the cool night air hitting his face as he stepped outside. The city stretched out before him, a maze of lights and shadows that he had mastered long ago. But now, with Naomi back in his life, the game had changed.

He would find her again. And when he did, he would claim her as his—body, mind, and soul.

With a final glance at the city below, Marco disappeared into the night, his thoughts focused on the hunt that had only just begun.

***

The night had deepened by the time Marco returned to his penthouse, an opulent fortress that towered above the city, offering a panoramic view of the kingdom he ruled. The building was an architectural marvel—glass, steel, and stone melded into a structure that exuded power and prestige. Inside, the walls were adorned with art from centuries past, pieces he had collected during his long existence, each one a reminder of the lives he had lived and the empires he had built and destroyed.

Marco entered the private elevator that whisked him up to the top floor, his thoughts still lingering on Naomi. The sight of her tonight had stirred something within him, something he had long thought dead—a yearning, a need for connection that he had buried beneath layers of duty and violence.

The elevator doors slid open to reveal the expansive living area, bathed in the soft glow of moonlight streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows. Marco crossed the room, his steps soundless on the polished marble floor. He moved with the grace of a predator, every movement calculated, every sense attuned to his surroundings.

As he approached the bar, he poured himself a glass of aged whiskey, the amber liquid catching the light as it swirled in the crystal tumbler. He took a slow sip, savoring the warmth that spread through his chest, though it did little to quell the cold that had settled in his soul.

He hadn’t felt like this in years—perhaps centuries. The last time he had allowed himself to care, to feel, it had ended in betrayal and bloodshed. He had vowed never to make the same mistake again, to keep his heart as cold and unyielding as the empire he had built. But Naomi had always been different. Even as a human, she had possessed a strength, a fire, that had drawn him to her. And now, after all these years, that fire still burned, igniting something within him that he had long tried to extinguish.

Marco set the glass down, his gaze drifting to the cityscape beyond the windows. The world had changed so much since he had first walked its streets, but some things remained constant—power, control, and the hunger that drove him.

But Naomi… she had always been the exception. She was the one thing he had never been able to control, the one person who could challenge his dominance and make him question the life he had chosen. And that terrified him more than any enemy he had faced.

His thoughts were interrupted by the soft chime of the elevator. Marco turned, his senses alert, though he already knew who it was. Only a select few had access to his private sanctum, and he had been expecting this visit.

The doors opened to reveal a woman with flowing dark hair and piercing green eyes, her beauty marred only by the hard edge of cruelty that lingered just beneath the surface. She moved with the same effortless grace as Marco, her presence commanding attention even in his domain. This was Isabella Rossi, one of Marco’s most trusted lieutenants and a vampire with a reputation for ruthlessness that rivaled his own.

“Marco,” Isabella greeted, her voice smooth as silk, yet laced with an undercurrent of something sharper. She stepped into the penthouse, the doors sliding shut behind her with a soft hiss. “I heard about the incident tonight. A traitor dealt with personally—how very unlike you.”

Marco turned back to the window, his gaze fixed on the city below. “It was necessary,” he replied, his tone devoid of emotion. “A reminder that no one crosses the Sangue Scuro and lives.”

Isabella walked further into the room, her eyes never leaving him. “A reminder to them, perhaps,” she said, her voice dropping to a more intimate tone. “But what about you? You seem… troubled.”

Marco’s hand tightened around the glass in his hand, the only sign of the tension that simmered beneath his calm exterior. He knew Isabella well enough to recognize when she was probing for information, and he had no intention of giving her any more than she needed to know.

“Nothing I can’t handle,” he replied, his voice cold and dismissive. “Is there a reason you’re here, Isabella, or are you just concerned about my well-being?”

A smile touched Isabella’s lips, though it didn’t reach her eyes. “Concerned? Hardly. But I did hear some interesting news from the club tonight. Something about a woman from your past. Naomi, wasn’t it?”

At the mention of Naomi’s name, Marco felt a surge of anger, though he kept it tightly controlled. Isabella was playing a dangerous game, and he wasn’t in the mood for it.

“What of it?” he asked, his voice steady, though a dangerous edge crept into his tone.

Isabella took a step closer, her eyes gleaming with curiosity. “You haven’t mentioned her in years, yet here she is, back in your life after all this time. I can’t help but wonder why.”

Marco turned to face her, his expression unreadable, but his gaze was as sharp as a blade. “Naomi is none of your concern, Isabella. She is a part of my past that I will deal with as I see fit. Do not forget your place.”

Isabella’s smile faltered, just for a moment, but she quickly recovered, her expression becoming more guarded. “Of course, Marco. I wouldn’t dream of overstepping. But you know as well as I do that anything involving you concerns the Sangue Scuro. If there’s something you’re not telling me—”

“There’s nothing to tell,” Marco interrupted, his voice firm. “Naomi is a human. She poses no threat to us, and she will remain that way. I won’t allow anyone to harm her.”

The finality in his tone left no room for argument, and Isabella knew better than to push further. She inclined her head in acknowledgment, though her eyes still held a flicker of doubt.

“As you wish, Marco,” she said, her voice as smooth as ever. “But if she becomes a problem—”

“She won’t,” Marco cut her off, his tone brooking no dissent. “I’ll handle her.”

Isabella studied him for a moment longer, then nodded. “Very well. I trust your judgment. But remember, Marco, the Sangue Scuro comes first. Always.”

With that, she turned and walked back to the elevator, her movements as graceful as ever. As the doors closed behind her, Marco exhaled slowly, allowing the tension in his body to ease. Isabella was dangerous, and she was right about one thing—anything that concerned him inevitably concerned the Sangue Scuro.

But Naomi was different. She was not a pawn in the game of power that he played, and he would not allow her to become one. She was his, in a way that transcended the blood and violence that defined his existence. And now that she was back in his life, he would do whatever it took to keep her safe, even if it meant defying his own kind.

Marco finished his drink, the whiskey burning a path down his throat, grounding him in the present. He had already made his decision. He would find Naomi again, and when he did, he would tell her the truth—about what he had become, about the world he now ruled, and about the darkness that lurked within him.

But more than that, he would ensure that she understood one thing above all: she belonged to him, just as she always had. And nothing—not time, not distance, not even the forces that sought to tear them apart—would change that.

With renewed determination, Marco set the empty glass down on the bar and turned toward the city that lay sprawled out before him. The night was still young, and there was much to be done.

But first, he had a promise to keep.