Benedetta PoV.
“Why here, Theo?” I asked, my voice betraying my discomfort.
I didn’t want to meet him in a place like this—dimly lit, the air thick with a strange blend of turpentine and citrus. The walls were lined with red velvet, a deep blood-red that reminded me of a victim in a vampire’s embrace.
Was he a vampire?
I flipped the business card I had been holding for too long. The name "Virgil Vissarion" gleamed in gold, no title, just "investor." His tenor voice from our phone calls still echoed in my mind, sending chills down my spine.
A vampire or not, I didn’t care. As long as he paid.
The sound of footsteps approaching pulled my heart into a faster rhythm. My curiosity spiked as I turned to see a man, pale and six feet tall. His presence screamed wealth.
“Apologies
