“My dear, if looks could kill, then you would be a splatter on the wall.”

Beatrice glanced up to see Emil Conti standing over her with a martini and a cool smile. “Emil, I doubt you’re complimenting my outfit, so I’m going to assume she was glaring at me again.”

He chuckled as he sat next to her in the plush velvet chairs that lined the VIP section of the club.

She had been mistaken, Livia was entertaining them at a nightclub. It was one she owned, and Beatrice could feel the vibrations of the music from the dance floor below. The favored vampires who had received an invitation stood at the edge of the darkened glass, surveying the humans who crowded the club like their own, personal buffet.

Which, Beatrice thought, they kind of were. The few humans allowed upstairs were swimming in amnis and quickly taken to the private rooms. The grunts and moans of pleasure were dampened by the thick walls, but not completely drowned out.

“A vampire-owned nightclub,” she said. “Kind of a cliché, isn’t it?”

Emil smiled. “It’s a cliché for a reason. It’s a good business to be in and provides an excellent cover. She’s had this one since the seventies. Thankfully, the decor has been updated.”

“You own any?” They were somewhat isolated in their corner of the balcony. Beatrice had staked out a spot earlier where she could keep an eye on the whole party, but still be heard if she lifted her voice. It also had a great view of the table where Livia and Lorenzo had set up court.

“I don’t. I have very boring businesses like shipping companies. Fishing. Though I do own several small cruise lines.”

“That could be fun.”

“If I had a taste for retiree blood, I’m sure I’d get my fill.”

They laughed together, but both of them looked over to the head table.

Both Livia and Lorenzo had humans draped over them and made no disguise about taking a sip openly. The vampires surrounding them looked on like a hungry pack. Even Emil narrowed his eyes, but Beatrice had a feeling it wasn’t in envy.

“Doesn’t that piss people off?” she asked, her voice raised to allow the sensitive ears around them to hear. “I mean—I don’t like to compare—but at my grandfather’s parties in Los Angeles, everyone is allowed to bring their own company, if you know what I mean.” Beatrice noticed the subtle attention that had shifted in their direction. So had Emil. A smile flickered across his mouth.

“In truth, Beatrice, most cities do not have the strict discipline about feeding that Rome has.” His voice was very carefully neutral. “It is one thing that sets us apart.”

You’re definitely not saying that’s a good thing, are you? His dark eyes were narrowed in calculation as she continued. “It’s definitely unusual. I know I’m young, but I’ve traveled quite a bit. Other than the feeding thing, you’re lucky to live here. I love Rome. The energy. The sights. It’s an amazing city.”

“I’m glad you’re enjoying your stay. Despite the unpleasantness earlier this summer.”

“I’m sure things will all be sorted out. I’m relieved that Gio is no longer confined, but then, no one contains my husband for long.”

“And you have no idea where he is?”

She smiled. Are you asking for me or the silent audience we’ve attracted? “None at all.”

Laughing eyes met hers. “Of course not. After all.” Emil looked around the room. “I can scarcely keep track of my own wife, and she’s never been arrested.”

“Are you talking about me?” A graceful vampire slinked over and draped herself across the arm of Emil’s red velvet chair. Donatella Conti was, according to Ziri, a very keen water vampire with very good instincts. She had been turned during the Renaissance, the same as Giovanni, but was a distant relative of the Borgia family. Her union with Emil Conti was a political manipulation of her sire, who had died shortly after the match. Beatrice couldn’t quite figure Donatella out.

She was a gorgeous chestnut brunette who wore designer fashions like they were loungewear. She made no disguise of her disdain for Livia, but still seemed to live in a charmed bubble of popularity. She and Emil had both come with other dates, but gravitated toward each other throughout the evening.

Emil ran a possessive hand over her thigh. “Of course we are talking about you, my love. Who else?”

Beatrice said, “I love your dress. That color is amazing on you.” It was a blood-red cocktail dress that Beatrice remembered some skinny actress in Hollywood wearing to an awards show the year before. The actress looked anemic in it. Donatella looked stunning.

“Thank you,” Donatella said, as her gaze raked over Beatrice’s uniform of black jeans and a skin-tight black shirt. She’d dressed it up for the night with satin top that Dez had picked out and her tall, black boots. “I like your boots, Beatrice De Novo.”

Beatrice let her fangs run out and smiled. “Thanks. These are Gio’s favorites. I’m pretty sure I don’t match Livia’s dress code, though.” It was true. She was the only woman wearing jeans in the club, but no one dared turn her away at the door.

“And, I suppose, that is why Rome loves you.” Donatella smirked. “And you are American. You can get away with it.”

“Oh?” Beatrice said. “I think Roman women can get away with a lot more.”

Emil smiled and ran a hand up the curve of his wife’s calf. “You are quite right.”