Nyx
Marlowe

“The usual, Ms. Veronika?” the driver asked as Veronika settled into the back seat of the limousine. “The usual.” He nodded and pulled away.

Minutes later, the limousine rolled into a narrow alley behind the nightclub district. Veronika gathered her purse, stepped onto the pavement, and glanced at her watch. Perfect timing. The clubs had just closed, and hundreds of people spilled into the streets beneath flashing signs and city lights. Music still thundered through open doors while laughter, drunken arguments, car horns, and the distant wail of sirens blended into the familiar chaos of the night.

Veronika entered the crowd alone. Standing just under five-foot-ten, she moved with the effortless confidence of someone accustomed to turning heads. A figure-hugging crimson dress embraced her hourglass frame, bold against the sea of dark clothing surrounding her, and her red-bottomed heels struck the pavement with graceful, deliberate steps. Her rich caramel skin glowed beneath the city lights. Thick waves of jet-black hair fell nearly to the middle of her back, full lips framed a soft smile, and captivating light-brown eyes shimmered with an innocence that made her appear almost vulnerable—exactly as she intended.

Then she saw them. Six men. Jonathan stood slightly ahead of the others, watching the crowd with the relaxed confidence of someone who believed the night belonged to him. His eyes drifted toward the diamond necklace resting against Veronika’s collarbone. One necklace. One night’s work. Maybe more.

“Hey, sweetheart. You lost?” Jonathan asked. Veronika stopped, and he smiled before asking which club she had come out of. She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “The one across the street. I’m not lost exactly. I lost my phone somewhere between songs, and apparently my friends decided to leave without me.”

Jonathan glanced toward his crew before looking back at her. “Damn. That’s cold. You know what? We can give you a ride home. Only if you want to. No pressure.” Relief appeared across Veronika’s face. “That would be wonderful. Thank you.” She extended her hand. “I’m Veronika.” Jonathan took it. His smile remained pleasant. His eyes did not. Mayhem lived behind them.

The ride began with harmless conversation, but everyone inside the vehicle was laughing for a different reason. Veronika simply looked out the window. Eventually, the crowded streets disappeared behind them, the city lights faded, and trees swallowed the road. Jonathan’s smile slowly vanished as an enormous iron security gate appeared ahead.

A guard stepped from a small stone security house and leaned toward the driver’s side. “Good evening, Ms. Veronika. Is everything all right?” Jonathan glanced toward her. “Everything is fine, Manuel,” Veronika answered. The guard studied the men for only a moment before returning to the controls, and the massive gates opened.

The road beyond wound through acres of dark land. Two colossal stone lions stood on opposite sides of the entrance road, flames dancing inside wrought-iron braziers beside them and reflecting against the carved eyes until the lions appeared almost alive. For one strange moment, Marcus could have sworn they were watching the vehicle.

Then the manor appeared. Casa Morții rose from the darkness like something the night itself had built. A sprawling façade of aged stone stretched beneath the moon, its enormous windows glowing with warm amber light that somehow felt anything but welcoming. Ancient Italian cypress trees stood in perfect rows along the rain-slicked drive, their narrow silhouettes resembling silent sentinels guarding the estate.

Jonathan stared. “This place…” Angelo leaned forward. “It ain’t a house.” Jimmy whistled. “It’s a damn castle.” Veronika stepped from the SUV without saying a word. She looked back at them and smiled. The manor had stood for centuries.

Tonight—Casa Morții was hungry.