Page 33 of Oath of Blood and Joy

“No.” Steve’s response came after a brief pause, during which I could hear muffled conversation in the background. “Pascal checked the bedrooms and there are clothes, but suitcases are missing.” His breathing had quickened slightly, the sound clear even through the phone’s speaker. “Where the hell did they go? Maximo left before but his servants were always here.”

The questions hung in the air between us, unanswered. Through the car window, I watched the shadows lengthening across the road as the afternoon progressed, each one a dark reminder of the power Joy possessed—and the danger she faced. Maximo wasn’t just hiding—he was erasing his tracks completely. The kind of preparation that spoke of long-term planning, not a hasty retreat.

Angelo scowled. “Meet us back at Crescent Manor. Now.”

“On our way, boss,” Steve said and hung up.

Dimitri’s laugh from the front seat was dry and humorless. “This is a new twist. Our human mafia friend decides to pull aHoudini right when things get interesting.” He accelerated the car through a turn, the engine purring aggressively beneath us. “You know what this means, right? Maximo’s not just running—he’s setting up shop somewhere he thinks we can’t find him.”

His eyes caught mine in the rearview mirror, dancing with a dangerous glint. “I’ve got to hand it to the guy. Most humans are too stupid to realize when they’re completely screwed. At least this one knows he should be terrified.” He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel in a mocking rhythm. “Ten bucks says he’s hiding out in the one place he thinks we’d never look. Somewhere painfully obvious and yet somehow overlooked.”

I stuck my phone back into my suit pocket. “I think he’s right, boss. Maximo is planning something big and we need to find out what.”

“Yes we do,” Angelo said. “Disappearing like that can only mean he’s planning a takeover. He needs to find out what happens when he threatens the Santi family.”

I rubbed my chin. “We have to find him first.” A thought occurred to me. “His clubs... if he’s truly gone underground, he might have shut them down too. But if he’s keeping up appearances, maintaining cash flow...”

“Either way, someone knows something,” Angelo cut in, his eyes hard. “Former employees, suppliers, the girls who worked for him—someone always talks. No one disappears completely.”

“First we need to make sure Crescent Manor is secure,” I added, memories of our previous breach still fresh. “I don’t want another invasion like we had last time.”

Last time there was an invasion, we lost one of our own—Jacques Girard. He’d been a loyal soldier and a good friend. I still missed his laugh.

Angelo pulled out his phone, the movement sharp and sudden. The ringtone barely completed one chime before it was answered. “Serenity?”

I caught the subtle tightening around his eyes that betrayed his concern.

I leaned closer, straining to hear Serenity’s voice on the other end. The conversation lasted only seconds, but Angelo’s expression darkened with each word.

“We are almost home,” he said finally, ending the call with a quick tap.

Dimitri glanced in the rearview mirror, his usual sarcasm replaced by genuine concern. “What’s wrong?” The car slowed slightly as he awaited instructions, his shoulders tensing beneath his leather jacket.

“The police are at Crescent Manor.” Angelo’s words fell heavy in the confined space of the car. Outside, the afternoon sun continued its arc across the sky, oblivious to our mounting problems. First Simon’s, thenTreméHouse, now our own sanctuary—the pattern was becoming impossible to ignore.

I sighed, running a hand across my face. “Flanagan.” The detective’s name tasted bitter on my tongue. Joy’s father’s former partner was proving to be as stubborn and determined as his deceased colleague had been. Despite Joy’s father being dead, Flanagan had taken up his mission with renewed vigor, convinced we were connected to disappearances across the city—particularly Joy’s. He wasn’t entirely wrong, but his persistence threatened everything we’d built.

But there was something off with Flanagan. Something I couldn’t put my finger on which made him extremely dangerous. In all my centuries of existence, I’d developed an instinct for identifying threats, and something about the detective sent warning signals through my ancient senses. It wasn’t just his dedication to the case or his suspicion of us—it was deeper, more primal. The way his eyes sometimes reflected light at odd angles, how he seemed to know things no human should know. The factthat he’d shown up at our doorstep now, of all times, couldn’t be coincidence.

Angelo nodded, his jaw set in a hard line. “Hurry, Dimitri.”

Dimitri’s response was immediate—the powerful engine roared to life as he pressed the accelerator. The car surged forward, weaving through traffic with practiced precision. “Brilliant. Another delightful twist in this nightmare,” he muttered, but the usual edge of amusement was missing from his voice. “First shadow monsters, then vanishing mafia bosses, and now cops at our doorstep. Should I expect locusts next, or will good old-fashioned hellfire be making an appearance?”

I remained silent as we headed through the French Quarter to Crescent Manor, my mind racing through possibilities, each worse than the last. Joy was still out there somewhere, vulnerable and alone. And now, with police at our home base, our ability to find her—to save her—was further compromised. The shadows seemed to deepen around us as we drove, as if echoing the darkness gathering on all sides.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Joy

Marsha led me out into the courtyard, her heels clicking against the ancient stones with metronomic precision. The afternoon sun beat down mercilessly, making me squint after the cool darkness of the mansion’s interior. Guards patrolled the parapet above us, their silhouettes stark against the cloudless sky. They moved with the practiced vigilance of career criminals—Maximo’s men, human enforcers from his mafia operation. Each carried not only modern firearms strapped to their thighs but elaborate-hilted swords at their sides, the metal gleaming wickedly in the sunlight.

According to Maximo, the only way to kill a made vampire like Enzo was by beheading them—a clean separation of head from body. But a newly turned vampire like my brother could die simply by exposure to sunlight, his flesh burning away until nothing remained but ash. I doubted Maximo’s men would be fast enough to use their swords on Enzo if it came to that. Even with their numbers and weapons, they were still just humans facing a predator with centuries of experience. Enzo could tearthrough them before they even raised their blades. But my brother—he was vulnerable. So terribly vulnerable.

I silently vowed to protect him, no matter the cost. Just as I would the other girls trapped in this nightmare. The promise hung around my neck like a heavy pendant, making my head bow.

Some of the guards looked down on us from their positions, and I could feel their lecherous eyes crawling over my skin. Their gazes lingered, hungry and predatory—these were dangerous men who saw women as conquests. I crossed my arms over my chest, hating the revealing black gown. The silk clung to my body like oil, highlighting every curve and contour, though it covered more than the others would have. Small mercies in a merciless place. I’d seen how Maximo’s men treated the other girls—with a brutality thinly disguised as protection.

In the middle of the courtyard sat a metal box, roughly the size of a small trunk. Heat waves rippled above the metal container, evidence that it had been sitting in the sun for quite some time. A heavy padlock secured the lid, its mechanism gleaming new against the weathered metal of the container. As we drew closer, I thought I heard muffled sounds from inside—scratching, perhaps a whimper. The hair on my arms rose despite the heat.

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