My sweet Saffiya,

An old friend of mine has a lead on a major job. It could be really good for us, Princess. I promise you, our lives are going to change for the better. Just you wait. See you soon!

Miss and love you,

Dad

See you soon.

My fingers brushed over the ink. As if the ghost of his pen would somehow bring me closer to him. The handwriting was large and harsh, as if every word that he wrote was a sentence behind the one in his head.

See you soon meant that my father hadn't abandoned me. I was right all along.

See you soon meant that he planned on coming back.

So, why didn't he? The question had been repeating itself in my head all the way from the hostel to the train station in Monte Carlo. But I found that dwelling on the numerous possibilities only made it worse.

Even so, as I sat beside an overgrown potato on a day bus to Volterra, the question burned in my mind. Along with a multitude of others that the letter's very existence raised, most of which I would never get the answers for. Not long after I had left, Misha called to inform me that the Mother Abbess had died in her sleep and they'd found the letter addressed to me in the bottom of one of her desk drawers.

"I think it's from your father."

I'd been in Monte Carlo for a week, surviving on an elementary understanding of the language and a quickly diminishing supply of money when the letter finally arrived. The Sister had sent it inside a larger envelope and the original letter appeared to have been unopened. It was dated only a few months after he had left me at the abbey and postmarked from some random city in Italy.

See you soon...

Misha had picked up the phone on the fourth ring. "Saffiya! How is Monte Carlo—"

"Did you know?"

"Did I know what?"

"The letter. Di...did you know?"

There was silence on the other line before she answered, "I did."

My legs gave out as I slipped down the wall and crashed to the ground, tugging the phone cord with me. Her words became babble in my ears, a mere buzz of meditative tones that did nothing to ease my pain.

"We were trying to protect you, little one. When there were no other letters, I thought we'd made the right decision, but—"

"I can't..."

"—never meant to hurt you, little one."

"Goodbye, Misha."

"Saffiya — Please!"

My eyes grew cloudy and I dropped the phone, letting it bang against the wall as it hung upside down on its cord. Misha's cries became more desperate as she realized I was no longer listening.

Instead, I was grabbing my bag, checking for my passport, and slamming the door on my way out.

The memory of her disembodied cries rang in my ears. I pushed them aside. I had bigger things to worry about.

I was aware of the odds. It'd been five years since the nuns had received my father's letter. If he never sent another...I shuttered in my seat. I refused to even entertain the obvious answer.

Still, I was hesitant.

Was I doing the right thing? This letter got me further on my father's case than I could have ever hoped. I was one large step closer to finding out what had happened to my father. And it pissed me off because now that I was here I couldn't help but wonder if I even wanted to know.
Was it easier not knowing? Would I be better off calling Misha, apologising and going home?

Could I live the rest of my life not without knowing — having gotten this far and then giving up? There was a high chance that ignorance would be the best decision at this point, at least in the long run.

But I knew I would never be able to let it go. I had to know.

The bus rolled to a stop in an open courtyard at the bottom of the city. The man beside me stirred, snorting himself out of sleep.

The windows had been taking heavy fire from the rain for the entirety of the bus ride. Despite the mix of different languages, I had no doubt that every single conversation was commenting on it. As was human nature, but the thought amused me as many of the tourists rushed off the bus and into the nearest hotels. Instead of joining them, I slipped my hood over my head and began my trek up into the city.

The cobblestone streets were busy with people packing up shops or rushing home to escape the rain. They all seemed lighthearted about it though, unlike the tourists who acted scared to death of water falling from the sky. I twisted and winded up the streets under beautiful stone arches and shop windows. Each home and entrance was seemingly carved into the old brick walls. I could feel myself falling in love with Volterra the way people fall in love with cities.

It wasn't until the rain had soaked through my jacket and my hair started to stick to my face that I decided to slip into a pub. It seemed to be the only place still open and I'd never been in a pub before.

On the outside, it was a surprisingly dodgy shack of a building when compared to the rest of the city. The inside wasn't much different...perhaps only slightly more homey.

Photographs lined the walls with images of, I assumed, customers. From young to old, families to friends, it seemed that the pub was quite a local spot. Booths surrounded the outer lane of the space, tables and chairs popped in wherever there was space. None of the furniture was new, only barely a step above classic. But it all meshed well, each element pulled together by the large collection of alcohols with fancy labels neatly arranged on shelves behind the bar.

It was nice, I decided.

The bartender eyed me carefully and I realized that I was still standing in the doorway. I smiled sheepishly at her before walking to the far end of the bar and sitting down. As if she were my shadow, she moved to stand opposite me on the other side of the bar. She spoke with a throaty voice, something in Italian. I had no idea what she'd said, but it was beautiful.

"I'm so sorry, I don't speak Italian."

She huffed dramatically, "what do you want?"

"Oh...um. Water, please." She rolled her eyes as she turned away mumbling, "too many Americans tonight." She said it in English, so clearly she didn't care if I heard her. I didn't bother to correct her, as the comment made me look around. I spotted a group of boys in a booth that I hadn't noticed before. They were a bit rowdy, so I'm not sure how I missed them.

One of them noticed me staring and hit one of his friends. All three of them were now watching me before one of them winked and I quickly turned my head back as the bartender set my glass in front of me.

She watched me then eyed the boys, her previously irritated face now softer as she turned back to me. "No good, from men like that."

I frowned slightly, unsure of what she meant exactly and my innocence seemed to confound her.

I glanced casually around the room, trying to remain inconspicuous as I scoped out the patrons. I had no idea how I was supposed to find this friend of my father's. I didn't even have a name. But I'd come all this way and I couldn't give up now. I could always just ask someone and maybe the universe would let me catch a break.

If there was a reward for taking leaps of faith based on less than nothing, I'd win it hands down.
One of the boys let out a "woot!" and slammed a bottle on the ground as his friends cheered him. The sound of glass breaking made me jump and the bartender shouted something in Italian.

"Out!"

The boys stood with smirks, one of them throwing a few euros on the table. One of them threw a nasty smile at me before he joined his friends, all three waltzing with arrogance out the door.

The bartender grabbed a broom and dust pan from behind the bar and walked out to clean up the boys' mess. I quickly got up to help her.

"Grazie"

"They were jerks." She laughed in agreement and I was glad I made her smile. As I glanced back down, my eyes were drawn towards one of the pictures on the wall. Freezing for an instant, I went to remove the photograph from its place before thinking better of the idea. I didn't need a closer look, anyways. I was positive.

In the picture, three people were seated at one of the circular booths in the bar. A woman sat on one end, smiling sheepishly at the camera. Opposite her was a much shorter man and although he was smiling, he still had a grumpy aura. The man in the middle had a huge grin on his face and he was looking at the woman.

It was my father. He was younger than I remembered, but I could never mistake him.
I tapped the picture harshly and searched for the bartender's eyes. "Do you know this man?" She seemed offset by my insistence and I realized I'd been sending this woman through a rollercoaster of emotions all evening. She quickly recovered, shaking her head.

"I know man next to him."

"Do you know where I can find him?" She gave me another look at the audacity of the personal questions. "Please, it's really important."

She shrugged, "he left for a fishing trip two days ago, back tonight. You'll find him in here before anywhere else."

"Thank you — so much — grazie."

"You're bleeding." I looked down at my finger which was, in fact, bleeding. I glanced down to the dust pan full of glass and found the culprit.

"It's fine. I can't feel it anyways." Nevertheless, I returned to my bag and pulled out a bandaid, quickly taking care of the small cut. "Thank you again, for your help." I set one of my last few euros on the bar. She nodded, watching me leave her bar with a newfound determination.

The streets were bare when I stepped outside. I couldn't have been in there for that long. But the sun had just barely gone down and with it, every Volterra citizen. It felt too early for the sun to set, but I couldn't be sure of the time. There was an extra chill in the air, paired with the low whistle of wind finding its way down the narrow streets of the city.

The rain had slowed to a drizzle and while my jacket had dried off significantly, its damp nature plus the wind made the cold even more intense. If the man was returning tonight, maybe I should have just waited in the pub. I stopped off at a bench and after weighing the pros and cons, shoved the jacket into my backpack. I was able to lift it back onto my shoulder and look up just in time to see a light flicker off in one of the houses.

It might as well have been a warning, because not a second later was my shoulder grabbed. I spun around to come face to face with one of the boys from the pub. "Boo."

I stumbled back, coming into contact with one of his friends.

"It's our lucky night, boys."

The one behind me grabbed under my shoulders and the others tried to pick up my feet. I grunted, throwing my head backwards into the guy's face. He shouted out, letting me go and messing up his buddies' balance. I half jumped away from them and began to run. I could hear their footsteps join mine as I turned down a street. A dead end. How utterly predictable.

My stomach dropped with an overwhelming feeling of dread. They had me cornered. The first one took a step closer to me until I felt the pressure of the wall on my back. I could feel my chest heaving up and down, my breathing increased with the pounding of my heart.

He leaned closer to me and before I could think it through, I spit in his face. In a last ditch effort, I tried to take the opportunity and run. I'd hardly gone a few inches before one of his buddies helped him pull me back and I was right back where I started.

"That wasn't very nice."

He was thrown away from me in an instant. I thought for a second that maybe one of his buddies had grown a pair, but they were flying backwards in their own directions. I watched as they landed, realizing with a harsh intake of breath that they were dead before they hit the ground.

That was when I saw him. He must have been my saviour but in the moment he presented himself as anything but. He stood between me and the men, all three on the ground. His face was hidden under a black cloak but he seemed to be watching me. I opened my mouth to say something but before I could even blink he appeared in front of me, a hand over my mouth. My hand immediately went to remove his but he caught it with his other free one. He wasn't looking at me, instead his eyes seemed focused on my band aid. And his eyes, they looked black. Except, that wasn't possible.

Without warning, he shoved himself away from me as if I'd attacked him. "What are you doing to me?" His voice was husky, intense and I think I could actually feel my heartbeat increasing. Good question.

He let out a groan that was oddly lustful as he breathed in the air around him and took one step towards me. Automatically, I pushed myself as far back against the wall as I could. Clearly muscle memory from the last five minutes of repeated male dominance. Only, my reaction seemed to pull him out of a trance and he stopped. A small noise from the corner attracted both of our attention. One of them was still alive.

I blinked and suddenly, my so called saviour was across the alley. He had the frontman of my attackers pressed against the opposite wall and I could've sworn he was kissing him. Except, his lips seemed to be at the man's neck. Before I could react, he moved away and the man's body fell to the ground in a heap. My saviour raised his head to look at me, blood staining his lips.

"You idiot." We were joined by three more dark capes, blocking my only exit out. One of them threw her hood back as she hissed at the boy, "what have you done?" The third one, a man, added, "Aro will be furious."

But he didn't answer them. He was looking straight at me. His hood had fallen, yet I could hardly make out his features through the darkness. Except his eyes. Which now barely passed as red and I wondered how I could have confused such a colour with black. My mind was in such disarray that it hadn't even processed the events in front of me yet. It was like I was stuck, because I couldn't tear my eyes away from him either.

"What's done is done," the man continued. "Let's just kill the girl and —"

That got him to move.

The boy was crouched in front of me, as if ready to pounce on his friends if they suggested such a thing again.

The smallest cape stepped forward and the other two seemed to shrink away to give her the floor. The boy relaxed in her stead, rising from his previous position. They watched each other for a second, as if having their own conversation that the rest of us weren't privy to. "If you insist, brother. Aro can decide what we'll do with her." She turned on her heel without giving anyone the chance to oppose her. The boy turned to face me.

I was looking up at him with wide eyes and although my stomach was overflowing with butterflies...I had the oddest wave of peace. And for a moment, it felt like I was standing in front of Mary's statue back at the nunnery. I bit my lip and broke contact, unnerved by the unexpected emotion.

"Demetri, clean it up."

"But he —"
I couldn't see her face, but whatever was on it must have frightened him because he nodded. The smaller girl continued to lead the way out of the alley. Immediately, Demetri went to my attackers, their bodies discarded on the ground and the lack of sympathy I felt for them threw me off. He began tossing one and then two over his shoulders as I watched.

The boy moved to block my view and quickly lifted me into his arms. The same thumping pressure in my ear alerted me to the increasing pace of my heart. "Could you please stop that?"

I heard a snicker come from the other vampire — Demetri, I had learned. Before I could ask him exactly what I was doing wrong, we were flying.

At least, it felt like flying. The wind whipped the air around us and I couldn't hear anything but its whistle. I tried to open my eyes to see but his hold on me tightened so I was facing his chest.

The next second, I was standing in an entrance hall. It was ancient and I'm no architect, but I was pretty sure that between the pillars and the arches and the golden rectangles that there was a multitude of styles thrown in to the building. It was all marble though and the only sound was the heels of the two cloaked women as they led the way to eccentrically large doors. The smaller girl opened it and I marvelled at what I assumed had to be super strength.

Super strength. Speed. Blood? Had somebody spiked my water?

I blinked. My surroundings pulling me back in to their reality as the marble walls seemed to fold in on themselves. We were now standing in a circular room. It could've been a ballroom, except the three thrones that were front and center suggested another purpose. Men and women in light grey cloaks stood spaced around the circular hall. All face forward and watching me with straight faces, though some of them let slip a hint of curiosity at my presence.

I faltered in my steps, but a hand on the small of my back kept me steady and moving forward. I looked over my shoulder to see it was the same boy, his face forward and empty, unblinking.

But that wasn't what I noticed. He was beautiful — otherworldly. It wasn't natural but apparently it was because they were all stunning. Everyone in the room. And I don't just mean stunning like attractive, I meant stunning like the literal definition. Stunning like Hermione Granger pointed her wand at me and yelled "stupify!". Stunning, like walking into a room and seeing your parents getting it on. Stunning in the same way that normal people desired to be supermodels, only they were what supermodels desired to be. All of them.

Even the three men at the front. One, with eyebrows tilted down in a cynical yet inquisitive stare. The middle one, now standing, pale as his counterparts but with a smile on his face that was as greedy as it was unsettling. The third, white as a sheet, even more so than the others, and face empty as a supermodel. He reminded me of Mother Abbess.

Mother Abbess. Misha. My father.

The man standing sighed as I met his eyes for the first time. Red. Like blood. What the hell was going on here?

"Alec, child. What have you done?"