Sweet Revenge With My Billionaire Vampire

Sensing his sarcasm, Adeline’s brows furrowed. The second she opened her mouth to argue, his fingers shifted, lightly pressing against her chin—and the next thing she knew, his lips were on hers.

He deepened the kiss, one hand sliding to the back of her neck while the other gripped her waist. He wasn’t just kissing her—he was claiming her again, making sure she felt every second of it.

Adeline melted. Her lips parted as she gasped for air, but Enzo took advantage of it, his tongue slipping inside, exploring her.

Their tongues moved in sync, the slow, sensual rhythm making her dizzy. He tasted like mint and something distinctly him—something addicting.

Fuck, he was such a good kisser.

Her hands, which had been stiff at her sides, found their way into his hair, fingers tangling in the soft strands. She sighed against his lips, and that small sound seemed to encourage him.

His fingers brushed against her spine, making her shudder slightly as he tilted his head, deepening the kiss further.

When he finally pulled away, her breath was uneven, and her lips tingled from his touch.

Enzo chuckled, looking far too pleased with himself. "You were saying?"

Adeline scowled, pushing at his chest weakly, but her body was still too dazed to make a real effort. He had once again left her completely flustered, and he loved it.

He suddenly shifted her in his arms, repositioning her, his hands supporting her back and beneath her knees as he lifted her into a bridal-style hold.

Adeline wrapped her arms around his neck, her legs dangling as he stood up from the bed. "What—what are you doing?"

"We’re going to get ready."

She stared wide-eyed at the bathroom door as he carried her toward it. "... Together?"

"What do you think?" He chuckled, stepping inside and kicking the door shut behind them.

---

Adrian Langston, a handsome, light-skinned young man with a low fade haircut, around the same age as Adeline and standing at six feet in height, paced back and forth near the front door of his house. His brows were furrowed, his hands occasionally running through his hair as he muttered to himself.

For the past hour, he had been caught in a silent war with his own thoughts. He had a decision to make. Should he do it? Should he visit his father’s shop? Should he tell the man he hadn’t spoken to in years that he was getting married? A part of him hated that he was even considering it, but another part of him, well...

Frustration bubbled inside him. It shouldn’t be this complicated. It was a simple decision—either he went, or he didn’t. But nothing about his father had ever been simple.

Adrian was the only son of Vincenzo Langston—the herbalist who had provided the herbs Adeline’s uncles used to kill Beverly Smith. He had never been much of a father to him. Not really.

Ever since the day Adrian was born, the man had blamed him for something out of his control—his mother’s death. She had died giving birth to him, and for that, Vincenzo had resented him. He treated him like nothing more than a reminder of the woman he had lost.

During his entire childhood, all Adrian had received from his father were cold stares and harsh words. He had spent years trying to earn his father’s approval, but it was never enough. So eventually, he stopped trying.

By the time Adrian was old enough, he walked away from it all without looking back. And now, years later, he had built a life for himself. A successful business, financial stability, and a fiancée he adored. He had everything he could have ever wanted.

So why the hell was he standing here, debating whether or not to invite the man who had never given a damn about him?

Because despite everything, Vincenzo was still his father. He exhaled heavily, running a hand down his face. "Fuck it."

He stepped forward, reaching for the doorknob. Twisting it, he pulled the door open, but then he froze. The second the chilly morning air hit his face, doubt crept in again.

What was he expecting, exactly? That he’d show up at his father’s shop, tell him that he was getting married, and suddenly they’d have some heartwarming father-son moment? That Vincenzo would look at him and say, ’Congratulations, son. I’m proud of you?’ That all those years of resentment and distance would just disappear?

He closed his eyes, inhaling deeply before slowly exhaling. Then, he pulled the doorknob and closed the door back. Maybe another day.

—

Dacatt trudged through the hot streets of Vegas, his hoodie clinging to his body uncomfortably under the hot sun. He was exhausted, both mentally and physically. Reasons for him being in the busy city are unknown.

Passing an alleyway, the faint sounds of a commotion—shouting and muffled voices—caught his attention.

He ignored it at first as it was none of his business. He didn’t have time for it either, but curiosity was a nasty thing, and it had always been one of his flaws.

He took a step back, then another, until he was standing right in front of the alley’s entrance.

Three high school students. Two of them, taller and more built, stood over a smaller one, who was pinned against the wall. The look on the kid’s face—nervous and helpless—was enough to tell Dacatt exactly what was going on.

He sighed through his nose, shaking his head. "Fucking kids."

He turned to leave, but an annoying part of him that gave a shit pulled him back. Rolling his eyes, he snapped his fingers, loud enough to get their attention. "Hey, idiots."

The two bullies turned, their faces immediately twisting into scowls.

Dacatt gestured lazily in their direction. "Leave the little guy alone and scram."

One of the bullies scoffed before letting out a short laugh. "Or else what, old man?"

He couldn’t believe himself. What the hell was he even doing? He was a goddamn hitman, not a hero. He rubbed his temples in exasperation, muttering under his breath, "Fuckin’ waste of time."