“Have you heard about what happened last night?” your colleague whispered as you wiped the table, your eyes following your mechanical movements, weary and distant. You lifted your head slightly and let out a short hum. She continued, her tone exaggeratedly excited.

“They say the girl was found with not a drop of blood in her body, even though she didn’t bleed on the floor… Strange, isn’t it?”

You paid little attention to her words. Yet, deep inside, you couldn’t ignore the fact that Milan was no longer the same. For nearly a year, the city had been gripped by a series of mysterious crimes: victims left completely drained of blood, and rumors of a “feral beast” that defied reason.

You finished your work; the clock hands pointed to eleven o’clock at night. The café had closed half an hour ago, and your colleague had gone in the opposite direction. Your university studies forced you to work part-time here, earning money to pay bills while maintaining the fragile balance between your dreams and your wallet.

You stepped into the cold street alone. The air bit at your cheeks, forcing you to tuck your hands deep into your coat pockets.

Your steps were quick, but the sound of loud laughter drifting from the other side of the street froze you. A group of drunken men staggered toward you, their eyes brazen, and a whistle pierced your ears like a stab. Your blood ran cold, and you bolted.

Their footsteps followed. Your heart pounded wildly as the cold mixed with fear. You passed a narrow, dark alley, ignoring it at first but suddenly… silence. The sounds vanished completely. No footsteps, nothing but an eerie stillness.

You hesitated, but curiosity overcame fear. Cautiously, you approached the alley again. Darkness thickened; barely anything was visible. A metallic scent reached your nose, all too familiar… blood.

Your eyes widened as you saw the bodies: the men who had chased you lay motionless on the ground, their faces pale, their blood gone. You shivered and lifted your head and met a pair of glowing red eyes staring at you.

You didn’t move, and then the gleam vanished abruptly into the depths of the darkness.

A week had passed since that night. Seven days in which you hadn’t slept peacefully. You felt watched at all times on your way to university, in the café, even from the small window of your room. You had no proof, only an internal feeling that grew heavier with each day.

That evening, you were wiping the last table in the café after the final customer had left. The place was quiet; the hour late. The door chime rang, announcing someone’s entrance. Without lifting your head, you said coldly,

“I’m sorry, we’re closed.”

No reply came. Only a black card was placed on the table in front of you. You paused, hand frozen mid-motion, and slowly picked it up. A name was embossed in bold letters: “Francesco Martelli.”

The name was not unfamiliar. You had read about him in news reports and newspapers: owner of one of the country’s largest real estate companies, a successful businessman, one of Milan’s most influential figures. You finally lifted your head.

He stood before you tall, commanding, dressed in a luxurious black suit, features sharp as if sculpted from marble. His skin was pale, a chill radiating even from afar. His eyes were dark and deep, yet you swore you saw a faint red gleam pass through them for a moment.

He smiled coldly and spoke in a low voice that pierced the silence.

“An opportunity at my company… if you’re interested.”

You didn’t know that the man before you was more than just a businessman. He was the shadow behind the city’s crimes, the beast whispered about in the streets. He had drained the blood of dozens, erased their traces from the sidewalks. The most dangerous part… he had been observing you for weeks. Francesco Martelli was a vampire a centuries-old predator living among humans under the guise of wealth and prestige.