Sharkbait Down Under

Consuela (Mardona) Vespucci’s POV

The girls went downstairs while Masters Cyprian Pontalba, Allesandro Molari, and Vincenzo Milan followed me upstairs to the master bedroom. I was nervous; yes, I’d helped the werewolves escape, but I’d killed a Master and his men. That made me dangerous, despite my young age.

It would be so easy for them to kill me and leave me for the police to find.

I relaxed a little when we arrived in the bedroom. “You should contact Doctor Cortino,” I said as I rattled off his phone number. “He’s a vampire and is a Medical Examiner in Mexico City. He can help you cover up causes of death and expedite death certificates and releases.”

“I’m on it,” Master Milan said, and he walked out with his phone in hand. I had an idea that medical examiners were commonly vampires or familiars by his reaction. He was no newbie in training, and like me, he was too valuable to fight, so he was probably safe.

“What do you want,” Master Pontalba said.

“Sir?”

“You actively worked against a Vampire Master despite the power and compulsion he held over you. It takes a lot of mental fortitude to rebel like that, and there had to be a reason. What was it? Self-preservation? Revenge?”

I shook my head, no. “What he did to those girls, what he did to me, it was wrong,” I said. “I couldn’t let him win whatever battle he was planning. If he was willing to do this in our Coven, what would he do elsewhere?”

The Master nodded. “Mass turns and forced turns are both against North American Vampire Council law. I wish we had learned of his actions before so many lives were lost or changed. I promise you that we will fix this Coven.”

“Thank you,” I said.

“You will inherit all of Master Vespucci’s legitimate properties and investments, making you a very wealthy and desirable youngling,” he said. “Do you wish to stay and rule here? I can help you find a vampire ready for Master status who would accept you and let you remain.”

I looked around the opulent bedroom. “This isn’t what I want or need,” I said. “It could burn to the ground, and I wouldn’t care. I can’t stay here, but I’ve never been outside of the city.”

Alessandro’s eyebrow raised. “You want nothing to do with the new Coven?”

“I want nothing to do with vampires, period,” I said. Quickly I realized my error. “My apologies, Masters. I meant no offense.”

The Supreme Master patted my hand. “No offense taken. I will ensure a lawyer is appointed to help you navigate your estate and protect you in the police investigation, and will not involve you in the process of forming a new Coven here in Mexico. I can make sure our secrets are protected, and you can leave here as a rich widow. Your actions have earned that much.”

Master Alessandro looked at me. “Do you have a passport?”

“Yes, Master Vespucci insisted we all have one, even the newborns.”

“I can offer you sanctuary in my territory,” he said. “You can get a tourist visa and go wherever you wish in Australia. I have people in the bigger cities, but you’ll be free to travel, provided you follow our simple rules. You can involve yourself as much or as little in my coven as you wish. Take some time to plan your next move.”

“I’d like that.”

“When the police finish with you, but a ticket to Sydney, and I will meet you there and make sure you are safe wherever you want to go.”

“Thank you, Master Molari.” Australia was as far away from this mess as I could get, and Vicki would be there. If things didn’t work in his Coven, maybe she could protect me.

I waited quietly as several vampires reported to their Masters. “We’ve cleaned the safe room area and removed the surveillance archives and phones,” Master Pontalba finally told me. “Stick to the clueless new bride routine and wait for my lawyer to arrive. You’ll be fine.”

“Yes, sir.”

“The key to your room will end up in Vespucci’s pocket.”

I heard the lock click shut after the door closed. Curious, I walked around the room. A Vampire didn’t need to sleep, so he only used the bedroom to fuck, change, and shower. I even found a drawer filled with female underwear and clothing, probably replacements for anything that got bloodstained. The room was well-decorated but generic; it said nothing about the man himself. It felt like a hotel room.

I found a book and sat in a large stuffed chair by the window, losing myself in the story as I heard the vehicles driving away. It wasn’t long before flashing lights, banging doors, and shouts of “POLICE” filled the air.

I heard boots running to the door and saw the handle jiggled without success. “POLICE! OPEN UP!”

“I can’t,” I yelled back. “My husband locked it.”

“Stand back,” they told me. The SWAT team hit it with something hard, and on the third try, the door flew open. Men in black body armor, their faces covered with masks under their helmets, rushed in. I was thrown roughly to the ground by one of them, held down by a knee on my back. My hands were pulled behind me and cuffed as I struggled. I started crying, asking why they were doing this to me.

“CLEAR,” someone yelled after coming out of the bathroom. “Vespucci’s not here.”

“The gate guard says he is,” a man in a suit said as he walked into the room. He gestured to the man holding me down; he got off me, then pulled me up and set me back in my chair. “Who are you?”

“Consuela Vespucci,” I said. “I’m his wife.”

“Mr. Vespucci is not married,” the man said dismissively.

I turned and showed him my ring. “We were married this morning by Father Rodrigo. Hernando told me to stay up, that we’d be going out tonight to celebrate after he finished some urgent business.”

“Where is your husband,” he asked me.

“I don’t know,” I said. “Maybe the safe room?”

“Show me.” The officer pulled me up, and I led them to the closet. I told them where to find the latch that moved the mirror, exposing the emergency escape door. The light on the keypad was red and flashing.

“Someone has hit the emergency button down there,” I said. “Hector said that once someone hits the red button, you can’t open the doors for six hours.”

“The code?”

I told him, but it didn’t work. The man threatened me, so I started crying. “I just found out about it this morning,” I sobbed. “I told you all I know.”

“Take her to the station,” he said dismissively.

One of the detectives interrogated me for the rest of the night, although it was more like a fifteen-minute interview repeated twenty times. He kept asking the same questions in different ways while getting the same answers.

Eventually, I was processed and placed in a holding cell. It was around dinnertime before the man from the house sat down with me in the interview room again. “Do you know any of these people?” He laid out photos of six women on the table.

I pointed at Vicki, then Amy. “I’ve seen them on the news,” I said. “She’s a diver or something? American?”

He put two more photos down. “You know these men?”

“Paco and Hector. They work for my husband; it was Hector who showed me the safe room yesterday, and Paco was sitting down there at the security desk.”

“When was the last time you saw them?”

“I saw Hector when I came home from work. He told me to wait in the bedroom for my husband before he locked me in.”

“I see.” Reaching over, he unlocked the handcuffs. “Your story checked out, although your coworkers at the hospital are upset you got married and didn’t tell them.”

“Hernando told me not to tell anyone, and we’d have a big wedding in a few months.”

“Mr. Vespucci is dead, Consuela. Hernando, Hector, and Paco all killed themselves rather than face trial over the kidnapping of the six American girls.”

I shook my head. “No, it can’t be.”

“I’m afraid it is. Your lawyer will escort you out.”

I stared at the door and started crying as the detective walked out. A few minutes later, a merman in his late twenties walked in the door. “Francisco de Leon, at your service, Mrs. Vespucci.”

“Consuela, please. I never had a chance to get used to my new name.”

“If you would come with me, we can get you out of here.” He walked me out of the police station and past the cameras and reporters shouting questions at me. His driver pulled away as soon as we were inside. “Sorry about that, but there’s a lot of international press interest in your husband.”

“Why?”

“Billionaire Mexican businessman holding four teenage Americans as sex slaves? It’s only going to get worse.”

“Oh, God,” I said as I leaned back in the seat. “I just want to go home.”

“The mansion is a crime scene. I’m going to put you in a hotel for now, and my assistant will get you some clothing. Stay inside the room, and say nothing. Let me deal with the police and the press.”

I did, even though watching the news was heartbreaking. I saw the girls as the police took them out, and Master Pontalba and his people somehow kept Vespucci’s supernatural existence out. My dead husband was outaed as a twisted fuck who abused girls and sold them into slavery.

Emily visited twice to update me on vampire matters, each time bringing me a bag of blood. She assured me that if I didn’t want to be part of the Mexico City coven now, I had options. “I’d take you in Boston in a heartbeat,” she told me.

“Do you trust Master Alessandro?”

“Yes. More importantly, Vicki does.” She handed me a debit card and a phone from her purse. “There is one hundred and twenty-two thousand in this account, payment for the items the Vampire Council took from your home before the police arrived. It’s a corporate account, completely untraceable, as is the phone.” She then handed me an American passport. “A new identity, should you need it. Keep this hidden, just in case.”

“Thank you.”

“I’ve finished my work here, so I’m flying out tonight.” She had used her power to guide the investigation away from me and the existence of supernatural beings. “My number’s on the phone; call me if you need help.”

As she left, I realized this gave me options. I could disappear, leaving the money and the drama behind if I wanted. I hesitated to do this because it was a LOT of money. Hernando left behind hundreds of millions of dollars in assets, and I knew the money was better off with me than a Coven leader.

I met with my lawyer after New Year’s. I’d fed twice, both times from unsuspecting delivery people who wouldn’t remember a thing. “Your passport,” he said as he handed it over to me. “The case is closed, and the authorities are not charging you for what your husband did.”

“Good. Book me a first-class ticket to Sydney, please. I need to get far away from here.”

“Of course, Consuela.” He made a call, then turned back to me. “What of your home? Your husband’s fortune?”

“Liquidate it, and place it into an account for me. You have my limited power of attorney.” It allowed him to act as my agent to sell Vespucci’s estate.

His eyes got wide. “It will take a while to get a full accounting, especially as the government is still trying to determine if any of the money came from illegal sources. They’re going to soak you for taxes if you move it offshore.”

“I’m never coming back to Mexico, Francisco. Keep me posted on the progress; I’m leaving in the morning.”

I was now one of the richest single females in the world, heading as far away as I could get from the nightmare my life had become.