The Vanishing by Karla Nikole
Six
Across the ocean, it’s a beautiful morning in Milan. The weather is sunny and mild, and thankfully dry enough to where Cellina is confident that she won’t have any surprise hair malfunctions halfway through the day (namely frizz—the cruel and silent aggressor).
She stares at the large, flat calendar covering her desk. It’s almost time to leave for her lunch appointment with the new artist she’s pursuing. She looks over to her left. The nude, six-inch strappy pumps that she wore into the office lie discarded against the ornate rug covering the marble floor. She sighs. “High heel bullshit.”
One day, when she’s the sole proprietor of her own small art gallery, she’ll never wear high heels. After she’s played the game, made the connections and established her name as a credible force in the art world, she’ll wear sexy leggings and bright sneakers to work every day. Anyone who takes issue can kindly fuck off.
Her phone rings, disrupting her fantasy of soft hooded sweatshirts and strappy sports bras. Cellina leans forward, glancing at the screen. Giovanni. “Why?” She frowns. He never calls her. Ever—despite knowing each other and being connected their entire lives. Because their fathers were best friends, she spent the bulk of her childhood with the Bianchi siblings. While Cellina adores and has a long history of looking after the younger brother, Nino, Giovanni is… a different circumstance entirely. Complicated.
“Yes?” Cellina answers. Their communications with each other aren’t cordial. Not since she was a teenager, anyway. If he’s calling, there’s a reason. May as well cut to the chase.
“Come to the house,” he barks in his husky voice. That’s part of the problem with Giovanni. Too male and overflowing with testosterone. Too proud and bullheaded, using his entitled purebred authority to order people around.
“What? Right now?”
“Yes, please,” he says. Silence.
Shit. Cellina sits back in her chair, dragging her thick, straightened hair past her shoulders. She twists it behind her head as she mentally rearranges her schedule. Reaching for a pencil, she says, “Give me thirty minutes.”
“See you soon.” He ends the call.
Cellina hits a different number in her phone and brings it back to her ear. She finishes writing on her calendar, then stands to reclaim her heels. They’re like a glorified penitentiary for her feet.
“Hi, Gabriella? It’s Cellina De Luca… I’m doing well, but I have to apologize to you. Something’s come up and I need to reschedule our lunch. How does Friday work for you?”
* * *
Twenty-five minutes later,Cellina knocks on the heavy oak door to Giovanni’s office. A long time ago, it was his mother’s office. Cellina smiles to herself, remembering the fierce woman with ivory skin and jet-black hair. The little Japanese she knows, she learned from her. In turn, Cellina’s mother had gifted both Nino and Giovanni with Swahili.
After hearing Giovanni call out, she steps inside the room. The ceilings are high and arched. Bright recess lighting makes the marble floors and stone walls look creamy and elegant.
Passing the outer sitting area, she walks through the main arch and into the office. Giovanni stands from behind his desk, broad-shouldered and impeccably dressed in a beautiful royal blue suit. His white shirt is crisp, no tie. He never wears ties if he doesn’t have to. She remembers as much from when they were young. He used to say that they made him feel like a dog on a leash—a physical representation of his life circumstances.
Stepping forward, Cellina takes a breath, unconsciously inhaling his clean scent. She can never quite put her finger on it. He smells earthy like rosemary, but… mixed with something peppery or spicy. Ginger? He walks around the corner of his desk to sit against the front edge.
She lifts her chin. “Why are you summoning me like the lord of the realm?” This isn’t normal. Something is wrong.
“Technically, I am lord of the realm,” Giovanni says, his face serious. “I got bad news from Japan.”
Cellina’s heart rate triples in its intensity. “What happened?”
“Nino is gone.”
“What?” Cellina’s knees weaken, the weight of his words like a wrecking ball to her stomach. She sits down hard against the leather sofa behind her. “Giovanni, what does that mean? How can he be—”
“He vanished. There was some circumstance with a visitor they had, and it sounds like he’s done something to him. The situation isn’t clear, but we need to keep this to ourselves.”
“Oh God,” Cellina breathes, bringing her palms to her face. Her heart is shattering. Nino is without doubt the most wonderful creature she has ever known, and yet he’s experienced an unacceptable degree of tragedy in his young vampiric life. He was taken advantage of as a child, lost his mother young, and his father is still ill from her absence. Nino had also been isolated growing up—shunned by their society because of his abuse. Modern vampires are genial about a lot of things, but rarely ever sympathetic to emotional wounds or mental health. It is a distinct cultural failing.
The universe had shown Nino mercy in sending him Haruka: a kindhearted vampire and the love of Nino’s life. But now, this.
Stress crashes down, her body trembling and her throat tight. Just as the weight of despair overwhelms her, Giovanni is there. She looks up, startled by his solid presence as he sits down atop the coffee table in front of her, legs gaped on either side of her knees. Without a word, he reaches out and wraps a large hand underneath her hair and at the back of her neck. He pulls her forward, bringing their foreheads together. They’re so close that their noses touch.
Cellina gasps, her body even more tense from his nearness. They haven’t touched each other in more than a century.
A gentle heat washes over her from their physical points of contact. The calming, reassuring influence of his vampiric aura pours out, covering her in a bright haze. Earthy and spiced, the scent eases her racing pulse, causing her to breathe in perfect rhythm with him. Slowly, in and out.
The last time he did this to her—for her—was when she was thirteen. Her younger brother, Cosimo, had read her private journal, then walked around quoting direct lines from it at random. Lines about her private feelings toward Giovanni. She’d been so upset that she’d wanted to drain him. When she started vocally plotting out the logistics of ending his life (because having an organized plan is the key to success), Giovanni surprised her by leaning into her, bumping their foreheads and letting his aura swell and grow. He calmed Cellina that day, giving her peace of mind while inadvertently keeping her little brother alive… not that he deserved it.
Years later, the comforting sensation is the same. But Cellina and Giovanni have changed.
When Giovanni lifts his head, Cellina opens her eyes with heavy lids. His glowing emerald-green irises are staring back at her. “Are you alright?”
“Yeah,” Cellina breathes, sitting up straight to escape the weight of his hand against her flesh, the intensity of his vivid eyes. “Thanks. How is Haruka?”
“Not good.” Giovanni rubs the back of his neck, his eyes fading and returning to their normal hazel color with flecks of green. “I haven’t spoken to him. Everything I told you is second-hand from the all-knowing one.”
“Asao.” Haruka’s manservant. Despite being a third-generation vampire, he has a unique sense of hearing—the trait profound within his family’s bloodline to have survived three generations.
“I’m leaving on a flight to Okayama this evening.” Giovanni sighs. “Are you coming?”
Cellina sits back against the couch. She’s calm now, her mind focused. “Yes. I just need to go back to the office and make some phone calls. Are you okay?”
“I’m alright. I’ll feel better once I get there and understand the whole story.”
“Agreed. I need to book my flight. Maybe—”
“I bought two plane tickets. If you can be back here by seven, we can leave together.”
Together? Cellina raises her eyebrow. Why would they travel together? For the past century, the unspoken rule has been to avoid each other. He made his feelings toward her crystal clear all those years ago. As a result, whenever they meet now, they squabble—petty and bitter.
But today is different. There isn’t any space for their trivial grievances and acerbic remarks. They need to work together.
She nods, mentally rearranging her schedule for the next week. In truth, she’s grateful that the hassle of booking a flight has been taken off her plate. Why he would extend this kindness to her, she doesn’t understand. But she’ll take it.
“He has to be okay,” she sighs, the image of her sweet friend and his bright amber eyes flashing in her mind. “There’s no other option, Giovanni.”
He stands from the table. “I know. We’ll figure this out.”
