Fratelli: The Awakening (The Vampire Cartel #1)

47. Showtime

Chapter 47

Showtime

B ellagio Casino, Las Vegas - Nevada

April 15, 2018

(6 Days Before Death)

Lamont struggled to make sense of Tristan’s intricate instructions. It couldn’t have come at a worse time. The pain of not being able to speak to his family on the day of Deshawn’s funeral still gnawed at him, leaving a raw emptiness in his chest. Now, on top of that, he was stuck babysitting Russell Young—the paraplegic brother of Lucio’s girlfriend. None of it added up. Why him? And why now? As if that wasn’t enough, he was also tasked with organizing an international gaming convention, easily six times the size of any concert he’d ever managed. What kind of twisted game was Don Lucio playing? And why this kid?

“Yo, Russ, you ready, man?” Lamont called out, doing his best to keep his frustration in check, so his voice was forced into a casual tone. The kid was handicapped, sure, but he was fiercely independent—so much so that he refused any offer of help. All Lamont could do was wait, pacing restlessly around his ensuite. His mind raced with the worry that they’d be late. His anxious movements didn’t go unnoticed by Lucio’s men, who were always lurking, always watching.

After another ten minutes, Russell finally wheeled himself out of his room and into the suite. He was dressed sharply in the clothes Tristan had brought—designer parachute jeans with multiple zippers and pockets, crisp white Balenciaga sneakers, and a matching Balenciaga shirt. A pristine white Balenciaga cap sat on his head, the double BB logo front and center. The kid looked legit, and Lamont almost told him so.

One of Lucio’s soldiers, stationed in the room to monitor them, moved to a lamp table, opened the drawer, and pulled out a large velvet necklace case. Flipping the lid open, he revealed platinum Cuban link chains dripping with ice, each one fitted with matching diamond medallions, stamped with the Di Salvo Entertainment Draca logo encrusted with rubies.

“Holy crap! Are you fucking kidding me, bro?!” Russell looked up at Lamont. “They want me to wear it? For the show?”

“Tristan sent you both ice as gifts,” said the beast of a man who held the case open for them to inspect. “You work for Di Salvo Entertainment now. Consider it an employee badge. You are to wear it at all times,” said the soldier. Lamont rolled his eyes, but Russell immediately scooped up his necklace with his good hand and studied all the diamonds.

“This is so fucking unreal. Wait until I text Dolly this!” Russell exclaimed.

“Let me help you, bro,” Lamont said and put the iced-out necklace around the young man’s neck. He then reluctantly put on his own. “So we good?” Lamont asked.

“Fuck yeah,” the kid mumbled, touching the diamonds.

Lamont sighed, “Let’s roll.”

“Wait.” Russell rolled his chair over to his bookbag and picked it up. I don’t go anywhere without it. Lamont nodded he understood. He was beginning to like the kid. The door opened and two more men under Di Salvo entered. One wheeled in a chair for Russell that was made of black titanium and decked out with comfort. The sight of it rendered both Lamont and Russell speechless. Before Russell could understand the meaning of the gift, someone lifted him from his chair and placed him in the new one.

“Yeah, man. This is going to be epic. I’ve got everything I need,” Russell grinned. He adjusted his cap. “Let’s get to the stage.”

Lamont nodded. His eyes swept the room, half-expecting more gifts or surprises. When the men stayed frozen and watchful, he shrugged. “Alright, let’s get you there.”

They exited the suite and navigated through the hotel’s bustling hallways, teeming with costumed gamers and buzzing fans. The energy was electric, the pulse of excitement that could make you forget—at least momentarily—the real world. Even Lamont felt a flicker of relief, a brief reprieve from the looming responsibilities and the dark strings that came with Lucio’s world.

As they reached the event space, Russell skillfully maneuvered his wheelchair with automatic controls. He glided up the platform built for him on stage. Lamont took a deep breath, adjusting his headset as the roar of the crowd grew louder. The lights dimmed, giant screens blazed to life with the competition’s logo, and the air vibrated with anticipation.

From his post at the side of the stage, Lamont watched closely, his eyes never leaving Russell.

Then Russell’s voice boomed through the speakers, confident and commanding. “Welcome, everyone, to the Vegas GamerCon! AREEE YOUUUU READDDYYYY!”

The crowd’s roar reached a fever pitch, and in that moment, Russell completely owned the room. His face beamed across every jumbotron in the theater as he introduced himself as the ‘Green Ninja,’ shouting out the top five games he had conquered. Each mention brought another wave of cheers from the audience.

“Ready to see some epic battles?” Russell grinned, fully immersed in his role.

But just as Lamont felt a flicker of pride, a shadow slithered closer, disrupting the moment. It was more instinct than sight—a prickling at the back of his neck that made Lamont’s gaze snap to the left, searching. Through the blur of crew moving heavy audio cases and the constant hustle of talent and agents, a tall man strode forward with unsettling ease. There was a natural swagger about him, a lazy grace mixed with a predator’s precision that made others instinctively step aside. Lamont’s heart stuttered. He’d developed a new, unwelcome skill—he could spot vampires when others couldn’t.

“Lamont, I presume?” The man’s voice slid smoothly into Lamont’s earpiece, though his lips hadn’t moved. The menace behind it cut through the noise of the production as if they were the only two in the room.

“Who’s asking?” Lamont replied, trying to keep his voice steady. Even over the loud din of the event, he knew he’d been heard.

“Shakespeare,” the man said with a smirk, his lips barely moved as he spoke. “I work for the Di Salvos, like you. I’ve been... curious about you and your little friend over there.”

Lamont’s pulse quickened. This was trouble, he could feel it. Another damn vampire had set his sights on him—and this one wasn’t even trying to hide it.

“We’re just here for the event. Nothing more,” said Lamont

Lamont forced himself to meet Shakespeare’s gaze, and for the first time, he saw him fully under the backstage lights. Shakespeare’s eyes were half-lidded, almost lazy, but when they slid over to Lamont, something was unnerving in them. Something sharp. They glowed faintly with barely concealed malice.

“Is that so?” Shakespeare’s voice dripped with skepticism. “You see, I have a knack for knowing when someone’s lying. And right now, you reek of half-truths.”

Lamont swallowed hard. He knew there’d be no easy way out of this one.

“Now I’m going to ask you again. What’s up?” Shakespeare’s voice was calm, but the threat lingered just beneath the surface.

Lamont took a breath. “Look, I don’t want any trouble, bro. We’re under Tristan’s protection,” he said, and returned his attention to Russell, who was still onstage, introducing the top gamers as they burst onto the scene with fanfare and applause.

“Ah, Tristan,” Shakespeare mused. He glanced at his watch. “He’s enroute, isn’t he? Motherfucker’s always running late.”

Lamont’s eyes darted around. He searched for the guards. They were always nearby, always watchful—but now, with Shakespeare present, they had slithered into the shadows. That was some serious bullshit. And then it hit him—the Triad had schooled him about the vampire hierarchy. If Shakespeare was standing there, running his mouth, it meant he had rank. Serious rank.

The Triad had groomed Lamont to take Leonardo’s place, someone who held protection even against vampires. But the way Shakespeare was speaking to him now, like he could rip Lamont’s throat out at any moment, clarified that his position meant little to this guy.

Shakespeare’s gaze locked onto Lamont, and Lamont felt an invisible force yank his attention back. He couldn’t look away—the vampire’s sheer mental grip held him in place. Behind the polished smile, Lamont could see the darkness, the predator that hid behind Shakespeare’s cool exterior. Dressed in an expensive tailored suit, black silk shirt unbuttoned just enough to reveal a line of diamonds around his throat, Shakespeare was the picture of refined menace. His neck was inked with tattoos, and his face had an inherent strength. One eye was as clear as glacier water, while the other was a smoky brown—both boring into Lamont with unsettling intensity.

Without moving his lips, Shakespeare’s voice echoed in Lamont’s mind. “Tell me, Lamont, why would Lucio send you and a cripple to my city, especially after your partner’s untimely demise? Word on the street is you’re the new man to respect. Leonardo has gone into early retirement. But I can’t figure it out. What will you do for the Order? Rap us into supremacy?”

Lamont felt a shiver of dread. He could sense Shakespeare picking through his thoughts, rifling through his memories with frightening ease. Deshawn’s death flashed in his mind, and Lamont felt the weight of Don Lucio’s words—that he was weak, that he was only fit to play his new role. Tristan had warned him this would happen, warned him about encounters like this. He had to stay sharp and focus his thoughts as the Triad had instructed.

The good news? He knew little. Especially about Russell. That gave him some protection.

“Answer me, young one,” Shakespeare’s voice dropped, deep and guttural, as it filled Lamont’s head like a drumbeat.

“Lucio thought my man Russell deserved this opportunity. He’s from my hood. It’s charity work. It’s got nothing to do with what happened to Deshawn.” Lamont’s voice hardened. “What happened to Deshawn was Don Lucio’s business, not yours, bro.”

For a moment, the air between them seemed to thicken, charged with tension. Shakespeare’s smirk widened, but his eyes never left Lamont’s. The unspoken threat hung in the air.

Shakespeare revealed the faintest hint of fangs. “You’re an interesting one, Lamont. But I wonder, how far does your bravery go? Should we test it?”

Lamont’s jaw stiffened and he could feel the ring of power Shakespeare held over him tighten like a noose around his neck.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Lamont choked out.

Before Shakespeare could probe further, the sounds of cheering suddenly filled the auditorium as the gaming competition kicked into high gear. Russell was in his element, completely captivating the audience.

“Seems like your friend is doing well,” Shakespeare noted, his tone almost casual now, his stranglehold on Lamont's neck dropped. “But don’t think this conversation is over. Tell Tristan that Shakespeare said w’sup?”

With that, Shakespeare walked off and melted back into the crowd of techs and talent backstage, leaving Lamont with a sinking feeling in his gut. He glanced at Russell, who was oblivious to the danger swirling around them. Only one thought hammered in his head. He needed to get in touch with Tristan. Fast.

As the event continued, Lamont held his position. His mind played with strategies to protect Russell and himself.

“Ready?” Darlene asked.

“I’m ready,” Lucio replied, eyes closed, a hint of impatience in his tone.

“Are your eyes closed?” she teased again.

“Yes, they’re closed. We’re late. Please, come out.”

“Oooooookay, here I come…”

Lucio opened his eyes just as Darlene stepped into view. The sight of her hit him like a wave. Raw desire swept over him, the same intense, almost primal pull he’d felt when Dolly had been carefully pampered and styled for him. But this was different. Darlene had done this on her own, without his influence. She had insisted on it when they’d made up earlier—demanding her space in everything. His grief had dulled his will to fight her for control.

Yet every time he looked at her, Dolly’s anguished face reflected at him in the fractured shards of memory, like the shattered bathroom mirror that haunted him. Every word she spoke echoed in Dolly’s voice. Every kiss tasted like Dolly’s lips. It was torture disguised as desire.

“What do you think?” Darlene asked, her sultry movements hypnotic as she walked toward him. She moved like a model, or maybe a trained ballet dancer, with an intentional grace that grew more seductive the closer she came. Darlene was volatile by nature, but it never detracted from her femininity. Under the dim light of the boutique, she looked ethereal, almost unreal.

Lucio didn’t have to fake a smile. The lump in his throat—the one that always rose when he thought of how he had failed Dolly—slid down easier as he took in the sight of this new Darlene. He hated himself for it. He was a monster, and though he had committed unspeakable crimes, he had convinced himself that his obsessive love for Julia Brown’s descendants justified the hunger that led him to take their lives. But with Darlene, with Dolly… he had learned what true love might actually feel like.

Darlene wore a sheer black mini-dress that sparkled with countless rhinestones, each one caught the light and accentuated her every curve. The only parts concealed were her nipples and the most intimate areas. Her body strained against the fabric. Every line and angle pushed the designer’s intent to its limit. Her hair, somehow longer despite just three days together, was swept up into a pinned bun to the top of her head. The style revealed the diamond Cartier studs and necklace he had replaced for her—the ones that had once belonged to Dolly.

She was exquisite.

“This is soooo me!” she grinned, doing a slow, deliberate turn. “Dolly has no taste. And her body? She wishes she looked this good. Were you grossed out the first time you saw her naked?”

Lucio’s frown deepened, but he didn’t respond.

Darlene laughed. “I’m just joking! Stop being so serious.”

“You are you, Darlene. Beautiful and perfect in every way,” he said, his voice steady, though his mind was far from it.

“You mean that?” Darlene asked, her tone shifted slightly, probing.

“What do you think? Am I a liar?” Lucio replied, his voice more direct and challenging.

Darlene rolled her eyes. “Yeah, you’re a liar. But lucky for you, I like liars.”

“Good for me,” he agreed. Lucio forced himself to check the time. His mind was on the event—Domencio and his men would be there, and he needed to be ready. “We should go now.”

“Mmmkay,” she sang, and pranced past him with the carefree confidence that both frustrated and fascinated him. The stylist handed her a designer clutch. She removed the tag from her dress. Lucio followed her out onto the street. He worked to steady his mind as his loins and manhood responded to her.

Tristan wasn’t driving tonight—he had more critical matters to attend to with securing the Bellagio. Darlene’s entrance would be a game-changer, but the night had to go flawlessly.

One of Lucio’s men opened the SUV door for her, and as she stepped up, the hem of her miniskirt lifted, revealing the curve of her ass cheeks. Lucio clenched his jaw, reminding himself to let this version of Dolly—Darlene—breathe. He had to loosen his iron grip, at least for the night, to keep the peace. He needed her happy and compliant for his plan to work. Even so, the thought of another man even glancing at her, lusting after her in his presence, was intolerable.

As soon as they were inside and seated together, Darlene wasted no time. She was all over him, her body pressed close, her lips at his neck. And as much as he tried to resist, to hold his composure, he could feel himself beginning to unravel.

Indulge her, he told himself. Just for tonight.