Page 21 of Cry of Blood and Joy
Chapter Fourteen
Enzo
Rocco’s brows crinkled together like crumpled paper, and he stared at me as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. His dark eyes searched my face with the kind of intensity that suggested he was looking for signs of mental breakdown or possession. “Excuse me? What the hell are you talking about?” The words came out sharp and disbelieving, each syllable dripping with incredulity.
My jaw clenched as I fought the urge to grab him by the shoulders and shake some sense into him. Every instinct I’d honed over decades as an enforcer was screaming that we were exposed, vulnerable, sitting ducks in a glass box waiting for Angelo’s men to close in. I glanced warily through the large windows. The fluorescent lights inside made us perfect targets against the darkness beyond—anyone watching could see exactly where we were and what we were doing.
The bitter taste of desperation coated my tongue as I imagined Lorenzo and his team surrounding the building, trapping us with nowhere to run. The thought of Joy beingdragged back to face Angelo’s wrath made my chest tighten with a protective fury that threatened to consume my rational thinking.
“Can we talk about this someplace else?” The scent of brewing coffee that had seemed comforting moments ago now felt cloying, suffocating, mixing with the metallic tang of my fear until I could barely breathe.
Steve’s tension radiated from behind me like heat from a furnace, and Joy’s shadows stirred restlessly in response to the anxiety pulsing through all of us. Time was running out, and we were standing here having a conversation that could get us all killed.
Rocco dragged his fingers through his tangled hair with violent frustration, flour cascading from the dark strands like bitter snow. His movements were jerky, agitated, and the conflict warred across his features—self-preservation battling against what might have been sympathy. The gesture left white streaks through his hair, making him look even more disheveled and desperate than before.
“I don’t want Angelo on my tail,” he said. The name came out like a curse, and his hands trembled slightly before he shoved them into his jeans pockets. “I’ve got enough problems without adding a psychotic vampire mafia king to the list.”
His desperation seemed as deep as mine. Here was the son of vampire royalty, reduced to working minimum wage jobs and getting fired from coffee shops, and even he was terrified of Angelo’s reach. The irony wasn’t lost on me—I was asking someone who was clearly running from his own demons to help us hide from ours.
Desperation scratched at my throat as I played the only card I had left.
“You’re hurting for money?” The words tasted bitter on my tongue, but I forced them out anyway. Pride was a luxury I couldn’t afford when Joy’s life hung in the balance. “I’ll pay you.”
I watched his dark eyes flicker with interest despite himself, saw the way his Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed hard. Money was clearly a sore spot—a vulnerability I could exploit if it meant protecting the woman I loved.
“Please,” Joy said, stepping forward with her hands clasped tightly in front of her like she was praying. Tears gathered in her eyes, threatening to spill over, and her shadows had gone completely still around her—as if even they were holding their breath, waiting for his answer.
“We’re in trouble,” she continued, carrying the weight of absolute truth. “I don’t want Enzo or Steve to be hurt because of me.” The guilt in her tone was devastating, thick and heavy like smoke, and I watched her shoulders curl inward as if she was trying to make herself smaller, less of a burden.
Rocco looked at her then, really looked at her. Something shifted in his expression. His dark eyes softened as they took in her trembling hands, the exhaustion etched into every line of her face, the way she stood like someone carrying the weight of the world. The hard mask of self-preservation he’d been wearing cracked just enough to let something human slip through.
He sighed, long and defeated, the sound echoing in the quiet coffee shop like the deflation of his last resistance. His shoulders sagged as if her plea had physically knocked the fight out of him, and when he ran a hand over his face, his fingers had a faint tremble.
“Follow me. We’ll go through the back door,” he said finally. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead as he moved toward the back of the shop, and I could smell the shift in the air—from hostility to begrudging cooperation, though worry stillpermeated the air like smoke, cutting through even the rich scent of brewing coffee.
He led us toward a cramped office in the back. Every second we spent in this claustrophobic office felt like an eternity. My muscles tensed and I listened intently for every sound, just in case I had to grab Joy and run if this went south.
A burly man sat hunched behind a metal desk in a small, stuffy office that reeked of stale cigarette smoke and bitter coffee. Papers were scattered across every surface, and the harsh fluorescent bulb overhead cast sickly shadows across his ruddy face. His beady eyes narrowed when he spotted Rocco, and his jaw clenched with the kind of anger that came from dealing with the same problem repeatedly.
“What the hell are you doing back here?” he bellowed, spittle flying from his lips. The pen in his meaty hand quivered with rage before he slammed it down on his desk with such force it bounced and clattered to the floor. “I told you to get out!”
If this fool caused an alarm, Lorenzo would pick up our scent. But if I killed him, it would mean that we were here. We had to get the hell out of here.
I felt the shift in Steve’s energy before I saw it—the way his muscles bunched up, the subtle change in his breathing that meant his fangs were threatening to descend. He pulled back his lower lip in a silent snarl, revealing razor-sharp canines. The sweet, metallic scent of bloodlust rolled off him in waves, mixing with the office’s stale air until my own vampire instincts began to stir in response.
My hand shot out and clamped around Steve’s arm like a vise, fingers digging into muscle that had gone iron-hard with the promise of violence. I shook my head sharply, holding his wild gaze until some semblance of reason flickered back into his dark eyes. He was hungry—I could smell it on him, the desperate need that made every human heartbeat sound like a dinner bell.But if a dead, drained body was found here, it would be like sending up a flare for Angelo. We might as well paint a target on our backs and wait for the slaughter.
Rocco didn’t answer the furious manager, didn’t even acknowledge his existence. Instead, he moved with practiced indifference toward the back door, his hand already reaching for the handle. The metallic click of the lock disengaging sounded unnaturally loud in the tense silence.
We filed out into a dark alley that smelled of rotting garbage and old rain. The cool night air hit my face like a physical relief after the suffocating atmosphere of the office, but it did nothing to ease the knot of anxiety twisting in my gut. Broken glass crunched under our feet, and somewhere in the distance, a cat yowled like a warning.
I just hoped we weren’t walking into a trap. The shadows here were deep enough to hide an army, and every doorway could conceal Angelo’s men waiting to close the net around us.
Rocco led us down the alley. It smelled of urine, was littered with trash, and made my skin crawl. Joy was behind me and Steve brought up the rear. My heart beat faster as we moved toward the street.
I scanned the shadows of the alley with methodical precision, letting my vampire vision expand until every detail sharpened into crystalline clarity. The darkness peeled away like layers of black silk, revealing overflowing dumpsters, fire escapes zigzagging up brick walls, and patches of broken asphalt that gleamed wetly under the distant streetlights. My enhanced senses cataloged every scent—rotting food, motor oil, the lingering musk of stray cats—searching for anything that carried the metallic tang of weapons or the distinctive smell of Angelo’s men.
My heart thumped against my ribs as I swept my gaze across potential hiding spots: the deep recesses between buildings, theshadow pools beneath rusted fire escapes, the gap behind a row of industrial trash bins where someone could easily crouch unseen. Every nerve ending was on high alert, waiting for the whisper of fabric against brick or the soft scrape of a shoe that would signal an ambush.
