— Rome, Italy in the year 1495

The room was cold and damp, the flickering glow of candles casting long shadows across the ancient stone walls. Smoke lingered in the air, faint but acrid, a reminder of the fire that had raged earlier. Santino stood at the center, his crimson robe falling heavily over his lean frame, dark eyes fixed on the bound figure before him. Behind them, the faint clink of chains was punctuated by the murmur of coven members, their pale forms moving swiftly in the shadows, attending to the aftermath.

The acrid scent of burning flesh still clung to the chamber. Only hours before, the pyre in the adjoining cavern had roared to life, consuming the other captives—both mortal and vampire—who had been taken alongside the one now bound before him. The flames had painted the walls with light, illuminating Santino’s unflinching expression as the fire swallowed screams and silenced them.

Now, stepping forward, his boots tapped sharply against the stone, the sound slicing through the tense silence. His angular features, framed by loose black hair, were stark in the dim light, his cold gaze studying the lone survivor with chilling intensity. A faint smile touched his lips, devoid of warmth or pity, as he gestured toward the iron door, its handle glinting faintly in the glow.

“This one would not meet the fire...not yet,” his expression seemed to say, silent but certain.

—this was only the beginning.