Notturno (20 page)

years I’ve been trying to track down and kill the man

responsible for the death of my father. I thought the
Notturno

manuscript would at last bring him within striking distance.” He

shook his head.

Santos picked up Adin’s laptop and smashed it on the side

of the desk like a toy, breaking it open and shattering the

screen. Pieces of white plastic, which Adin saw were keyboard

letter tiles, flew like confetti. Adin put his head in his hands.

“Donte Fedeltà showed you a more-than-passing interest,”

said Santos, sweeping debris off his desk with a casual hand.

“And as I can no longer entice him with the journal, which I

understand is now in his possession, I believe I have little

choice but to change my strategy and offer him something else

he values.”

“Me?” asked Adin incredulously. “I’m like a McDonald’s

hamburger to him. What’s to stop him from just going to the

drive-through and ordering another?”

Santos looked at the man standing to his right, who

appeared to be his second in command, and raised his

eyebrows. Some unspoken communication passed between

them. “Gio will show you to a room,” said Santos. “We will

speak more of this later. May I say, though, for an intelligent

man you show a remarkable inability to recommend yourself as

a valuable hostage, and if you think about it, that shows a lack

of insight that could get you killed.”

Gio pulled Adin to his feet. Adin stumbled a little, still weak

and banged up from before, although he was trying to muster as

much dignity as he could.

“Can’t argue with that,” he murmured as they led him from

the room. He was a hostage? Adin was led to a small room with

a twin-size bed and bars on the windows. It was serviceable, as

if for a maid, completely devoid of any personality. He went

straight to the bed and lay down, giving his host a nod of his

head.

NOTTURNO
139

“Food will be provided later,” said Gio, with his arms

crossed over his chest. “There’s no way to escape this room, so

don’t waste your time.”

“Thank you.”

“You won’t be harmed tonight.” Adin looked up then to see

the man’s face. It was implacable, a blend of skin and oblivion.

“I see. But tomorrow?”

“You would have to ask Mr. Santos that,” said Gio. “But I

wouldn’t, if I were you.” He left the room.

“Hey!” Adin called after him. “Can I get some water?” But

he didn’t know if Gio heard him. He lay on the tiny bed,

thinking, mostly of Deana, who probably thought he was home

on Bainbridge Island by now. It wasn’t fair. She’d had so much

loss already and now she’d have to suffer another. No matter

what kind of spin Santos put on it, Adin knew Donte would

never risk himself for a human, and now that he had the

manuscript, there was nothing that could lure him into a

confrontation.

Adin made up his mind, however, to be a more valuable

hostage and keep that information to himself. He already

regretted the words he’d blurted out in Santos’s office. He tried

to find sleep but succeeded for only a few brief moments at a

time, dreaming deeply, waking sweaty from disturbing and

erotic dreams. The shame Adin felt was compounded by the

fact that, even in his current situation, he found these dark,

amoral predators compelling. He awoke, hard and hungry, from

a particularly vivid dream of the five men downstairs using him

by turns and all at once, to find a young man, almost still a boy,

standing over him, a pitcher of water and a tumbler in his

hands.

“Oh shit.” Adin jumped. “You scared me.”

The boy looked down and laughed, a shy kind of laugh.

Adin regarded him closely. He placed the water on the

nightstand. “You asked for water?”

“Thank you. What is your name?” Adin asked.

140 Z.A. Maxfield

“My name?” The boy seemed surprised. “Elian.” Elian still

wouldn’t look at him, and Adin realized it was because he’d

thrown off the sheet and was visibly hard, even leaking, under

his lightweight trousers. He sat up and rearranged himself as

discreetly as he could.

“Sorry.” Adin sighed. “It wasn’t a conscious thing.”

“No, I know.” Elian finally looked up, and Adin saw that

despite his youth he was tall and appeared very strong. “Boss

doesn’t like us to…”

“Surely you’ve been around the block a few times, Elian.

How old are you? How do you say it? Something like, ‘I’m

having the four hundredth anniversary of my nineteenth

birthday’?”

Thick lashes lifted to reveal eyes as dark as black coffee.

“I’m nineteen and I’ve only been with Santos for two years. He

said I was a blood relation and convinced my parents to let me

go with him. He told them I would be educated.”

“Didn’t you want…what happened?”

“No. I didn’t know about that. None of us did.”

Unreasoning anger built within Adin on the boy’s behalf.

“But being the top of the food chain can’t suck, can it?”

Adin tried the joke, but it fell flat.

“I didn’t want that. Wouldn’t have…if I’d been asked.”

“I’m sorry.”

Elian shrugged. He was still looking down unless he had to

answer a specific question. “Is there something else?” Adin

asked, wondering why Elian didn’t just leave.

“What were you dreaming?” the boy asked him, his eyes

going once again to Adin’s crotch.

Adin flushed. “Oh, well, dreams. You can hardly remember

them, and once they’re over they don’t make sense, do they?”

“Boss doesn’t like it… Men who like men.”

“Then why is he trying to get that manuscript? That makes

no sense.”

“He wants it destroyed.”

NOTTURNO
141

Adin frowned. “He can’t. It’s…”

Abruptly, Elian sat next to him on the bed. “He’s going to

destroy it. Nothing you say can stop him.” He placed a timid

hand over Adin’s erection. “You’re… It’s like you’re on fire.”

“Elian, I’m hardly in a position to…”

“What better position could you be in?” Elian asked.

“You’re probably going to be dead tomorrow.”

Adin pushed his hand away. “While that thought is truly a

lot less than comforting, it doesn’t mean I’m giving up.”

Elian sank into a slump. “You’re beautiful when you sleep.”

“Thank you,” said Adin sincerely. Elian put a hand out and

caressed his collarbone, brushing a thumb over the ridge and

slipping it down to palm Adin’s nipple.

“Oh, hey,” said Adin, catching his hand again. “Imminent

death? Not the biggest aphrodisiac for me. I’m sorry.”

“Your body makes you a liar.”

“That was just a dream, Elian. Awake I could never…”

“Elian!” someone called from downstairs, and Elian gave a

guilty start.

Adin smiled. “Go on.”

Elian got up and crossed quickly to the door. He turned

back. Fear and something else, something like longing, were in

his eyes. Then he left, locking the door behind him.

Darkness was coming gradually to wherever Adin was. The

shadows on the floor lengthened into the long-fingered, early-

evening ones he remembered noticing for the first time when

he was a child confined to his room for some infraction. He

couldn’t smell anything cooking at all, even though it was

dinnertime, and then remembered that the men who held him

wouldn’t be likely to need food, per se. Finally, in a pique of

self-pity the likes of which he was rarely guilty, he wondered

what it was going to be like to be eaten,
drained
, by the vampires downstairs, and if anyone besides Deana would notice he was

gone.

142 Z.A. Maxfield

A key turned in the lock on his door, and Gio came inside.

He motioned for Adin to get up and took his arm to lead him

back to the office.

Santos held up Adin’s cell phone. “You are going to call

Donte Fedeltà. He demands proof of life.”

“Am I?” asked Adin, and one of the guards, not Gio,

backhanded him across the face, knocking him down. He

picked himself up. “I don’t have his number.”

“As it happens, I do,” said Santos, handing him a piece of

paper with a phone number written on it. “Please don’t waste

any more time. I’ve sent Elian to get you something to eat, and

I should think you’d want to get this over with so you can enjoy

it.” Santos smiled, and Adin felt a frisson of fear.

Adin took the phone and walked to a chair situated by a

small table and lamp, presumably for reading. If he called this

number, he could speak to Donte and one of them, or both,

would die.

“Put it on speaker and place it on the table, Tredeger.”

After dialing, Adin did as he was told. The telephone rang,

and Adin thought of a thousand ways that Donte might answer.

“Adin?” Donte’s velvet voice came from the tiny phone.

“Adin, is that you?” That Donte would answer with his name

never occurred to Adin. All at once he was incapable of speech.

He looked at Santos, shaking his head.

“Speak,” Santos commanded, but a burning pain blocked

Adin’s throat to prevent him.

“Adin?” asked Donte again.

“Tredeger, speak,” Santos snapped. Gio caught Adin by the

back of the head, twisting his hair. Adin shook his head again

minutely because of the man holding him so tightly.

“Donte Fedeltà,” Santos began in a grim voice. “I have

something that belongs to you.”

“I doubt that,” came the sardonic reply, almost amused.

Adin would have lifted the corner of his lips in a half smile, but

Gio tugged harder at his hair, and the pain drew him up short.

NOTTURNO
143

“Speak or die, Tredeger. This is your last chance,” growled

Santos, as Gio pushed Adin’s head back to expose his neck.

Adin looked into Gio’s hungry eyes.

“Adin,” came Donte’s compelling voice. “Speak to me.

Surely you can’t think I’d want to hear you die over the phone.”

Adin gave a strangled laugh. “No, Donte. I’m sure you

wouldn’t want that.” He sighed.

“What do you want, Santos?” asked Donte.

“I want you to bring me the manuscript, by midnight, so you

may retrieve your…snack food item.” He rolled his eyes at Gio,

who smirked.

“I see,” said Donte quietly.

In the depth of his heart, Adin felt a tiny glimmer of hope

and ruthlessly crushed it. “Donte,” he said calmly. “They don’t

want the manuscript. Santos is after revenge.”

Santos stood, and Gio hurled him to the ground.

“Is this true, Santos?” asked Donte, as if he were discussing

the weather. “Are you still trying to make me pay?”

“I want the manuscript,” Santos said firmly.

“And what will you do should you suffer a

disappointment?” asked Donte.

“I would probably console myself by having your pretty toy

for a midnight snack and then planning a new campaign

tomorrow,” Santos ground out. “By midnight, Fedeltà!” He

indicated to Gio that he should hang up the phone.

“What did you hope to gain by that?” Santos asked Adin.

“What do you hope to gain by killing Donte? He may have

killed your father, but vampires kill. You ought to know that

you can’t blame a shark for being a shark.”

“While you might be the only human I’ve ever met who held

this view, you are making an improper assumption. Donte did

not kill my father. His wife, Renata, did. And because of Donte

Fedeltà, my father died unshriven and lies nameless in

unconsecrated ground. Things are more complex here,

144 Z.A. Maxfield

Tredeger, than you imagine them to be. I am truly sorry that

you became involved.”

Adin had a wild thought. Cristiano…Cristobel. “You are

Auselmo’s son? Cristiano?”

“I am.” Santos’s eyes narrowed. “Although I go by Cristobel

Santos now. Therefore any impassioned plea you make on

Fedeltà’s behalf will fall on the deafest of ears. Donte Fedeltà,

the illustrious Niccolo Pietro di Sciarello, ruined my father as

completely as if he had burned him alive. He has played hideand-seek with me for nearly five centuries. You are one small piece of equipment in a game between giants. I’m sorry for you,

but your life matters little to me.”

“Donte Fedeltà loved your father,” said Adin, “and you.”

“Donte Fedeltà
made
me what I am,” spat Santos. “And by

heaven he
will
pay for destroying my family with his vile

perversions. And since he is the one who makes it possible for

me to spend immortality in the quest for vengeance? As the

fairy story is told, ‘All the better to
eat
you with, my dear.’” He grinned again, and Adin turned away.

Gio tossed the phone to Santos, who crushed it in one hand

and jerked his head toward the door. Adin allowed himself to

be hauled to his feet and followed Gio back to the tiny, airless

room he’d waited in before. He lay back down on the bed,

contemplating the grim possibility that he had six or fewer

hours to live.

Adin’s own watch, the Rolex he peered at now in the

darkness while he awaited his fate, was still set to Frankfurt

time. Adin lit the small reading lamp by his bed. His father’s