Raphael (The Immortal Youth Book 1) (7 page)

“We better move. Your father has sent for you.” As Edoardo pointed at the end of the driveway, where two massively big men were running toward them, he stole another kiss from his boyfriend. “New bodyguards?”

With a long-drawn sigh, their foreheads connected, Ludovico nodded. “Long story. Meet Mr. Red and Mr. Blu. Ex-army.”

To the two men’s shouts of, “My lord!” the shifters mounted their bikes, and Raphael took his place behind Edoardo.

“Does his father usually send the cavalry after you?” After securing himself by circling Edoardo’s waist, Raphael looked over his shoulder. The earl’s employees stood by the gate and they were scary-looking.

Edoardo’s body tensed at first, then he hunched over the bike and laughed. “That’s a relatively new thing. He used to send Ludovico far away, but we always found each other, so he had to change his strategy. Those are the newest version of the terminators he has been hiring for the last month or so.” He revved the bike and dirt hit them.

The visor of his helmet still up, Raphael ate a mouthful of dust and spat it out. “Hopefully, he’ll come around for his son’s sake,” he croaked.

“I hope so. It means too much to Ludovico that I am accepted by his family.”

Ludovico cruised alongside them, and forty minutes later they reached Olgiata, the exclusive neighborhood favored by paranormal stardom.

Since Cinecittà, the Italian Hollywood, had opened his studios at the beginning of the last century, paranormals had taken by storm the movie industry. Charismatic, eclectic, and sensitive, those actors, directors, and truly anyone who worked around the big factory of dreams that was Cinecittà, were susceptible to live highs and lows as no one else in the paranormal community. Chasing fame and fortune forever, literally, made them the perfect candidates for depression, and it didn’t come as a surprise that they were the highest consumers of V.

Edoardo parked outside a three-story villa, bordered by cypresses trees and decked out for a party. A procession of people dressed to the nines walked along the entryway, leading to a majestic marble staircase.

The trio dismounted, and Ludovico opened his arm to the side. “Ready to party?”

“Where are we exactly?” Raphael had heard Edoardo’s part of his conversation with Ludovico, and he remembered the words movie star, gala, and old friends had come out several times. When he had asked the wolf for an explanation, Edoardo said Ludovico could enter any high society gathering, and those were the places where they could find V. “I thought we were talking about hunting down a pusher delivering in this area.”

“I was invited to attend Luciano Primotti’s new movie release celebration.” Ludovico messed up Raphael’s hair. “Relax.”

Raphael looked down at his dusty jeans, and at his white shirt stained with a day worth of riding through Rome. “I can’t even pass for the help. They won’t let me in.”

“You underestimate your friends’ social influence.” Ludovico headed toward the entrance of the villa.

“Don’t worry.” Edoardo walked past Raphael and motioned for him to follow.

At the white wrought-iron gate, a man, wearing a dark suite and holding a tablet and a stylus, checked off people as they passed through. When it was their turn, the man pointed down his nose at Raphael, but Ludovico announced, “Ludovico Cantari, with two guests.”

The man’s face showed his disconcert for the briefest of moments, then he forced a smile. “Good evening, my lord.” With a slight bow, he raised his hand to the side to let them in. “Please.”

Raphael felt judging eyes burning holes into his back as he headed toward the staircase, and walked faster.

Edoardo turned toward him. “Slow down. You’re a welcome guest.”

Raphael forced himself to do as Edoardo had suggested, but all his senses were on alert. Never in his life, he had visited a house like the one he was about to enter. “I had not realized how well-off you guys really are.” The insight made him look at them with different eyes. “I mean, I knew you were rich but—” Worried he would offend them, he raked his brain for the right words but they eluded him. “You never told me you were filthy rich—” He slammed a hand against his mouth.

“That’s because we aren’t particularly proud of it. It’s not that we did something to earn it.” Ludovico reached the first step of the staircase, and took Edoardo’s hand in his. “Let’s make a grand entrance, shall we?”

The couple entered the villa by a triple glass door that revealed the largest foyer Raphael had ever seen outside of a department store entrance. Inside, polished marbles, white columns, gilded mirrors, and Venetian glass chandeliers in pale blues framed the room.

Dizziness overtook Raphael. Too many scents, too much noise, and the heat that—despite the villa must have had a state of the art AC—was hell to endure. Plus, he remembered he hadn’t eaten much of the dim sum feast Edoardo had ordered.

As if reading his mind, or maybe Ludovico had heard Raphael’s stomach rumbling, the were-puma grabbed a whole tray from a waiter. “Eat before you pass out.” He picked a
tramezzino
from the plate and offered it to Raphael. “Ham and eggs. You’re a carnivore, right?”

“Yes, thanks.” The small triangular sandwich of soft, crust-less white bread tasted delicious. Raphael was amazed at the texture of the bread and at the delicacy of the ham. “Rich people food tastes better.” Avoiding the vegetarian selection that he left to the shifters, he devoured everything else on the tray.

Edoardo intercepted another waiter, and grabbed a bottle of sparkling water with one hand and three glass-blown chalices with the other. “Have some before you choke.”

Only when his stomach was full and he had gulped down several glasses, did Raphael realize how close he had been from fainting. But the clock was ticking. “Let’s find what we came for and get out of here.”

“Right on it.” Ludovico led them in and out of several adjacent rooms. He paused once or twice in his meandering to exchange greetings with people who asked after his family.

By the time they reached the internal garden, Edoardo was recognized as the Argentinian ambassador’s son and people approached him as well.

“Guys, I don’t want to be rude, but I don’t have time for socializing.” Even though the full moon was two weeks away, Raphael’s wolf paced inside his mind, demanding action, and he had a hard time keeping his beast calm. All the control he exercised in the morning had been eroded by exhaustion that was both physical and mental.

“Here they are,” Ludovico whispered, then canted his head and pointed at a group of younger guests milling around a fountain, and added, “You must trust us.” With his back straight and a slow gait, he strolled toward them. “Are you still good at pickpocketing?” he asked Raphael from over his shoulder.

“You betcha.” Raphael perked up and gave the group a better look. “Are they all were-pumas?”

Ludovico nodded. “High school buddies of mine.”

The sarcasm in the shifter’s voice was hard to miss. As it was the look of disdain one of the buddies gave Ludovico, which was followed by a series of arched eyebrows when the rest of the group turned to face them, moving in sequence like domino tiles.

“This is going to be good.” With a grin that lit all his face, Edoardo winked at Raphael. “Ready your nose and sharpen your reflexes, little wolf.”

A low, unfriendly murmur rose as they approached the fountain. Step by step, the tension grew to a palpable level, until Raphael could have stuck out his tongue and tasted the shifters’ hormones raising the hairs on his skin.

“Earl,” one of the were-pumas addressed Ludovico, but his eyes were on Edoardo.

Ludovico stopped before the puma, invading his personal space, and offered his hand. “How’s life, Carl?”

The puma’s face became red, and he dropped the hand he had raised to shake Ludovico’s. Not privy of were-royalties etiquette, Raphael watched the interaction but didn’t understand what was happening.

Ludovico’s smile didn’t falter. In fact, he showed more of his teeth. “Have you met my boyfriend?” Tilting his chin toward Edoardo, who was waiting a step behind, Ludovico invited him by his side. “Edoardo, those are the schoolmates I told you about.”

“What a fortunate coincidence to finally meet all of you.” Edoardo puffed his chest and took Ludovico’s hand in his. “I’ve waited a long time to stand before the royal brats who helped my Ludovico become the wonderful person he is.”

“How dare you!” Carl shouted, and the group moved at once, nostrils flaring and mouths snarling.

“Wolf lover.” A whisper at first, the insult was repeated and gained volume.

Yet, the couple remained untouched by the show of power from the united pack.

Edoardo turned toward Raphael and mouthed, “Now.”

Opening his senses, Raphael concentrated on the scents emanated from the pumas. Among the perfumes, the sweat, the smell of roast beef one of them had eaten earlier in the day, the acrid stench of racism, he found the sweet aroma of fresh V.

“You two make me sick.” Carl spat on Edoardo, and Ludovico punched him on the face, giving the official start to a fight that soon degenerated in vicious biting, kicking, and name calling.

As Ludovico and Edoardo seemed to have the time of the day splitting lips and knocking out teeth, Raphael concentrated in finding the vial of V before it was smashed.

His nose led him to the burliest of the group, a were-puma whose neck was as big as Raphael’s thigh. “Oh, come on.” Raphael approached the shifter from the back, trying to keep downwind and surprise him.

The puma turned at the last moment, and his eyes widened in disgust when he saw Raphael. “You—”

Whatever insult the puma had reserved for Raphael died in his mouth, when Raphael barreled into his chest. He feigned to the side before making contact, smashing his knee against the puma’s groin instead. This time, Raphael didn’t feel any remorse in playing dirty. His right hand slid under the big oaf’s expensive jacket, and with the softest of touches he removed the small vial without the puma being the wiser.

Leaving the were-puma on the ground, Raphael gave Edoardo the thumbs up and moved out of the way, heading toward the exit. A few minutes later, the couple joined him outside of the villa.

“Best night out ever.” Laughing, Edoardo patted Raphael, then, for once, he was the one checking the time. “Eight fifty-five. We better hurry or you’ll be late, Cinderella.”

Despite the adrenaline high, Raphael felt deflated. Inside the pocket of his shirt, he had just hidden a vial of vampire blood. Tainted poison he was about to barter for the chance to become a ruthless gang member. “Luisa, I love you,” he whispered as Edoardo recklessly drove through the streets of Rome.

At nine fifty-nine p.m., Mr. Wifebeater opened the door and looked down, his annoyed expression changing to disconcert the moment he saw the vial of V dangling from Raphael’s hand.

“As you ordered, sir.” Before the man could say a word, Raphael raised his cell phone with the screen facing the werewolf. “Right on time and with a full minute to spare.” He then pushed the drug into the werewolf’s hand. “Can I come in?”

“I’ll be damned.” Scratching his shaved head with his free hand, the shifter moved the vial to make the blood slosh from one end to the other. “I didn’t think you were going to show up again.”

“Told you I
always
deliver.” Raphael raised an eyebrow and pointed his chin at the spot behind the man’s shoulder. “So, what’s inside?”

The werewolf moved to the side and let him in. “What’s your name, scrawny thing?”

“Raphael.” He stepped inside a large room furnished like a billiard parlor. Couches and pool tables with pristine maroon cloths filled one side, while on the other a full bar took up the whole length of the wall. The place was empty. “What’s yours?”

The werewolf exhaled a long breath. “Sir.”

Fatigue coupled with headache and general uneasiness made for the perfect recipe for disaster. Especially when Raphael needed to maintain that thin balance between flippant and arrogant. “What’s your name,
sir
?”

“You’re something else, aren’t you?” Mr. Wifebeater laughed. “You’re lucky I’ve a little brother who’s a smart ass like you.” He went behind the bar, took a tall, frosted mug from a stainless steel, double glass-door fridge, and served himself a beer. “Name’s Rock.” With a ruler he tapered the foam from the mug. “Are you old enough to drink?”

“Just turned eighteen.” In his wallet, Raphael kept a fake ID for when the need arose, but he didn’t have to prove he was of a legal age.

Rock—although the Red had changed into a jean shirt, Raphael still thought the name
Mr. Wifebeater
was more appropriate for the werewolf—filled a second mug for Raphael. “Why are you here?”

“I want to join the Reds.” The beer was a pale ale, cold and refreshing. After a few gulps, Raphael put the mug back down.

The werewolf wasn’t drinking either, his dark eyes were on Raphael, a serious expression on his face as he drummed his fingers against his mug. “Why?”

“I’ve been living by myself since I was twelve, and I want to belong.” Two truths that made a big lie. Raphael brought the mug back to his lips.

“Okay.” Mug raised in salute, Rock tilted his head to the side. “Tomorrow, I’ll introduce you to Tancredi.”

Raphael choked and sputtered.

Rock slapped Raphael’s back, making him cough beer from his nose. “Don’t get too excited. The alpha might decide you aren’t prospect material.” Stretching his neck, he yawned. “Time for me to get upstairs. Make yourself at home.” With a sweeping motion, he indicated the couches, then headed toward one of the three doors opening into the room. He rapped on the stainless steel surface, and the door slid into the wall. “See ya.”

Raphael blinked, and the door closed before he could have a glance at what lay beyond.

The morning after, Rock kicked him off of the couch where he had fitfully slept. “Tancredi will see you now.”

Still groggy, Raphael blinked and looked up at the werewolf. “Where?”

“There.” Rock rolled his eyes and pointed at the rest of the room behind Raphael.

Feeling observed, Raphael turned, realized that a curtain had previously hidden an alcove, and saw they weren’t alone. “Sh—”

Inside the alcove, an elegant werewolf in his early thirties sat on a burgundy wingback chair, drinking an espresso from a delicate china set. Without saying a word, the man’s dark-blue eyes assessed Raphael. The thorough appraisal made him feel like he was something the man was about to buy. In Tancredi’s presence—the man wore a tailored dark-gray suit over a cerulean shirt and gray tie—anyone would have come short in comparison. Yet, with his wrinkled and dirty clothes and scuffed boots he had been wearing for twenty-four hours, Raphael straightened his back, and didn’t lower his eyes as he was expected to do before an alpha.

Not a smart move, but Raphael had no control over his visceral gut reactions. Years of beatings at the hands of his father had not taught him how to submit. Instead, any time he should have shown proper respect for the authority, he reacted defiantly. Raphael sensed Rock’s nervousness, and hoped he hadn’t ruined his only chance to get into the gang and see Luisa again. The silence protracted longer than necessary and became hard to bear.

Then, without any warning he was about to do so, Tancredi slammed the espresso cup on the saucer and laughed. A moment later, Rock guffawed too, while Raphael stood still. Maybe he shouldn’t have drunk that beer before going to sleep, but he felt nauseous, and the scene before him didn’t make any sense.

“I like the cub. He’s got spunk.” Tancredi pushed himself up and closed the distance between them, gave cup and saucer to Rock, then headed toward the same stainless steel door Rock had used the night before.

“Congratulations. You passed the interview.” Rock slapped Raphael’s head.

This time, when Tancredi knocked on the door, Raphael didn’t avert his yes. The metal surface slid into the wall as expected, and revealed a corridor. Two werewolves as big as Rock stood guard by it.

“What’s on the other side?” Squinting, Raphael asked Rock.

“You’ll know when you pass your trial period and become a true prospect.” Rock grabbed Raphael by his elbow and made him march toward the restrooms. “Scrub yourself clean. I’ll fix some breakfast for you.”

The night before, when Raphael had used the loo, he had wondered why the restrooms were fully equipped with showers, Jacuzzi, sauna, and even a steam room. “I won’t leave this floor until I’m a prospect?”

“You’re nothing but clever, aren’t you?” Rock was behind the bar that also doubled as a kitchen with a full stove at the end attached to the wall. While cutting slices of apples, he looked at Raphael from under his lashes. “A word of advice, being a smartass gets old very fast around here.”

“No smartassery allowed on the premises. Noted.” Raphael mimed the act of writing. “Where do I sleep?”

“Bedrooms.” The Red pointed the tip of the knife at the remaining third door. “No more questions or you’re out of here.”

****

For the next two and a half months, Raphael risked his life more than once to prove he deserved to wear the prospect leather jacket with the red “P” patched on the front. Once, while in a drunken stupor, Rock spoke of the girls living on the fourth floor harem, and told Raphael he would see them the night of his initiation. Although, deep in his heart, Raphael knew Luisa was close, he redoubled his efforts to get accepted into the Reds.

Meanwhile, other werewolves shared the billiard room with Raphael. Some of them prospects in training like him, others Reds who had drawn the short stick and were assigned to check on the recruits. Rock, who was the household and security manager, swung by several times a day to supervise all of them.

After that first encounter with the alpha, Raphael didn’t have further interactions with Tancredi. It was as if the man had forgotten Raphael even existed. For which, he was grateful. The Reds’ alpha was mercurial. One day the sky was blue and Tancredi was satisfied with the recruits’ performance on the streets. The next, he would invoke hell and brim fire on all of them.

Soon, Raphael realized how lucky he had been to meet Tancredi on the alpha’s good day. Compared to what happened in the following months, the morning he first saw the werewolf the man had been positively euphoric. Three recruits didn’t pass the alpha’s interview, and were thrown out into the street with several broken bones.

As it had happened to Raphael time and again in the past, he slipped into survival mode and kept by himself, exchanging as few words as he could with the rest of the dwindling crew, and doing what was asked of him to the best of his abilities. Every morning, he would get a list of locations and a load of boxes. The locations changed from day to day, then were repeated weekly in the same order. Instead, the boxes remained the same in both size and shape, resembling those containers used by hospitals to transport organs.

The job came with its hazards.

Once, a biker tried to pull Raphael over and steal the box he had secured on the rear of his Nimbus. Raphael escaped with his life and the box both intact, only because he knew every alley and backstreet in Rome. As the biker revved his Yamaha to pass Raphael and cut him, Raphael threw himself into the passageway between two buildings. The space was too narrow, and the huge bike didn’t fit. From there, Raphael sought the closest entrance to the Promenade.

Another time, a rival gang caught Raphael unaware in their territory. Again, his familiarity with the Eternal City saved him from being lynched.

One fall morning, his docket looked different. Instead of the usual number of deliveries, there was only one address—Olgiata zip code—no box, and a set of instructions. By now, Raphael was used to the Red policy of
don’t ask don’t tell,
and, without a comment, he checked the location on his phone to calculate the best route. As he entered the posh neighborhood, he realized why the address had sounded vaguely familiar. Primotti’s villa loomed ahead.

A sense of foreboding made him shiver, but he kept pedaling. He was close to being admitted into the
House
, the apartments on the second, third, and fourth floor where Red life happened. Too close to Luisa to stop now.

Before the villa’s gate, Raphael hesitated, read the instruction one more time, then pressed the button on the column.

The electric buzz grated on his frail nerves. “Who’s it?”

“Reds.”

A clang announced the wrought iron gate was about to open, then one side swung on its hinges and moved forward. Pushing the Nimbus ahead, Raphael ambled through the pathway and left the bicycle by the staircase. He knocked on the imposing dark wooden door, and waited for several minutes. When he was about to step down, the door opened, and Raphael swore at the sight of a familiar shifter.

“You—” The were-puma staring back at Raphael was the same he had relieved from the vial of V last time he was there. “I’ll kill you,” he said while barreling toward Raphael.

Raphael sidestepped and avoided to be hit by the angry freight train. If possible, the shifter had gained more weight and height. Counting on the fact that he was lighter and hopefully faster, Raphael danced on his feet, feinting and ducking, trying to reach ground level and his bicycle.

“You cost me a fortune, and my father thrashed me that night for the brawl at his party.”

With his notorious bad luck, Raphael should have known he had stolen from Primotti’s son. “I’m sorry—”

The upper jab caught Raphael unprepared and hit him squarely on his right jaw, sending him careening down the marble stairs. Closer to his Nimbus, but still far away from escaping. Kicks and punches rained down on him. The shifter didn’t give him respite, but pummeled Raphael with increasing strength.

Sweat from the were-puma mixed with Raphael’s blood, as the shifter cursed and blathered things like, “I’m enjoying so much beating the crap out of you,” and, “Too bad none of my friends are here to film me. It would be so much fun watching you die again.”

On the verge of passing out, Raphael realized the shifter was high on V, and for the first time in years he feared for his life. In a desperate attempt to make the guy reason, Raphael raised his hand before him. “I am with the Reds—”

Eyes unfocused, the were-puma lowered his reinforced boot over Raphael’s arm and pushed it down. Instead of landing flat on the marble, the arm remained suspended over the hard edges of two steps. Pain exploded behind Raphael’s eyes when the boot crashed against his arm and pushed it all the way against the back of the step, breaking bones.

Next thing Raphael knew, the shifter was throwing the Nimbus at him.

“What’s happening here?”

The voice reached Raphael in a haze of red and screams, his.

“What are you doing, Paolo?” An older man wearing a majordomo livery entered Raphael’s line of sight.

“Mind your business.” The shifter, Paolo, swatted at the majordomo.

“Very well, I’ll call Mr. Primotti. But you know he doesn’t like to be disturbed when he’s on set.” The older man made to leave.

“No need to call my father.” Paolo released the Nimbus to the ground.

“Who’s your friend?” The majordomo gave Raphael a brief look, before turning to face the shifter.

“I’m with the Reds,” Raphael whispered, gurgling out blood from his mouth.

“What did he say?” The majordomo leaned over Raphael.

“Nothing—” Paolo drew back and placed a hand on the man’s elbow, as if to convince him to step away from the scene.

“You invited someone from the Reds to your father’s house. Are you insane?”

“I owe them money—”

“And you thought beating one of them would help you how?”

“I didn’t think—”

“You rarely do.”

“This guy, he deserved it. He’s the reason why father’s so angry with me.”

“This time you went too far. There’ll be consequences.” Pushing away Paolo’s hand, the majordomo retrieved a cell phone from his jacket front pocket.

“No! I’ll take care of this. Don’t call my father. I beg you.” The were-puma fell to his knees. “He’ll kill me for sure this time.”

Raphael didn’t hear the rest of the conversation. He passed out from the pain, and remained in a state of semi-consciousness, as the majordomo and Paolo carted him around Rome. For a moment, he thought he was in an infirmary. When he finally opened his eyes and the world didn’t rotate on its axis, he saw that his broken arm was covered with a cast and he was back in his bedroom at the Reds’.

Rock was staring down at him with a big smile. “You made it.”

“Barely.” Thirst parched his lips, and he raised his hand to shield his eyes from the overhead light.

“Tonight, Tancredi will throw a party for you. You got in.” To Raphael’s silence, Rock added, “You’ll get your letter. Probably the first recruit to become prospect so fast. Aren’t you happy?”