The young man was dressed in a suit just barely appropriate for the occasion, not nearly somber enough for a member of the family. He stood there, head bowed, his spine rigid and angry.

He is no Derek.

The thought brought just a hint of bitterness to Marco. There had been a time, not so many years ago, when Marco and Julius had discussed Warren as the logical heir to Marco’s wealth and power. There had been no doubt that Warren was far more intelligent than Derek, but Warren lacked other qualities that Derek had possessed in spades. Where Warren was soft, Derek had been hard, where Warren was understanding, Derek had been demanding, where Warren was squeamish, Derek had shown delight. Derek had been a warrior. Warren an artist.

Now, the situation had been forced. Warren would have to be the first step on the path to Marco’s realizing his dreams, and the thought galled him. Not just because Warren was not his first choice, no, it went deeper than that. What galled him most was that he had been short-sighted. He’d placed so much faith in Derek, who’d seemed so untouchable. Derek had shown himself able to kill, burn, ravage.

Marco had come to believe that Derek would always be around. Now, Warren was untried, untested, and certainly not ready to captain Marco’s forces into the upcoming alliance with Don Maurice Bigio that would be the first step in Marco’s double-cross of Ordo Maximus. He’d use both of them as long as he could, until the day he had so much power than even they would have to bow to him.

I am to blame for his lack of conditioning. And I must correct this error.

Marco looked across the grave site and tried to picture Warren, not as he saw him now, a delicate creature that pulsed with lifeblood, but as the rest of these fools must see him. He let a small smile creep onto his heavily made-up lips.

Warren was strong, standing tall, his long hair beaded with rain. Despite Warren’s seeming gentleness, Marco believed that he could be fashioned into a warrior, molded into something more than the self-absorbed brat Julius had allowed him to become.

If Warren could be made to understand, he might still make a better leader than Derek ever would. Recently, Warren had been going through a rebellious phase, and Julius had given the boy entirely too much slack to pursue his whims. Warren had taken all that slack and had demanded more.

He was even seeing a stripper. Marco knew all about Warren’s secret life as Warren Storey. All about the fact that Rachel Harlan, Warren’s current quim in residence, knew nothing of Warren’s connection to Fratellanza, Inc.

Frag, the boy has convinced her that he’s poor.

Marco knew that Warren had been slumming, merely to gain attention from Julius and himself. He would come back around to the corporate way, eventually. Of that Marco was certain, which was why he’d allowed his brother to be so lenient with his son.

Now that Derek was gone, Marco could no longer afford to be so lax. Derek’s death was a setback, but I can’t afford to let that affect the plan. I will rule the entire earth one day, with my offspring crushing all opposition in my path.

Marco knew of one sure way to exorcise all of Warren’s faults, without jeopardizing his good qualities. An exorcism involving a vampiric virus tailored by Dr. Olso Wake.

He thought about the day Wake had come to him, telling him that Ordo Maximus believed Marco had potential and should be the first of the vampires to walk in the light of day.

At first, Marco hadn’t believed him, but one quick telecom call to London had put Marco’s suspicions to rest.

Despite the crippling outcome of the procedure, Marco held no grudge against the man. Marco knew that the leaders of Ordo Maximus had been the ones to rush the procedure, had been the ones to force Wake’s hand, even though the doctor had warned them of the risks.

It was worth it, Marco thought as he looked around, seeing his natural prey by the light of day. I’d do it again in a second. Now how do I convince Warren to undergo Doctor Wake’s procedure?

Where Derek had welcomed the transformation, Marco knew that it would offend all of Warren’s tender sensibilities. However, once Warren had been… changed, once he saw the world as it really was, once he’d tasted the true fruits the new life had to offer, he would fall into line. Marco had no doubts about that.

Still, there was another possible complication involved there. Julius would never be party to coercing Warren. Julius’ love for his son would be his downfall if Marco didn’t solve the problem soon. And it might only widen the rift that’s come between us. That would not do. Julius knew too much, and Marco wanted to avoid any action that might turn Julius definitively against him. Julius could ruin everything.

Marco thought of de Vries and Derek, and then of Warren, and a plan came to mind. It was so simple, so ridiculously simple, that for a moment, he let his smile out in force.

Luckily, none of the mourners happened to be looking in his direction when he made the slip. Because, in that smile, even the simplest person would have realized that there was nothing remotely human hiding behind the mask that was Marco D’imato.

The only person to see that smile stood just outside the high stone wall that marked the perimeter of the cemetery. The high-powered digital camera on the telescoping boom was capturing every moment of the funeral.

Jacked into the camera, Short Eyes saw everything. She shuddered as the camera zoomed in on Marco D’imato’s face.

Acting as de Vries’ daylight eyes took its toll on her, and the security here was very high. She simply needed to get some good trid of the funeral and then she could call it blowtime.

Since meeting de Vries last year, Short Eyes had felt purpose come back into her life. Before, she’d been nothing more than a second-rate media snoop and a chiphead. Now, she had direction.

She remembered the night she’d met de Vries in the alley behind a club in Amsterdam, the night he was hunting a vampire named Carlson. When Short Eyes first saw him stalking through the club, tall and stooped, chain-smoking his cigarettes, she’d thought he was a chipdream. But then she’d quickly realized what he was, and had followed him. She was the only witness to the magical vampire duel that had taken place in the deserted alleyway behind the club.

As de Vries was taking Carlson’s life, she’d tried to get away, but somehow, de Vries had known. He’d cornered her before she’d taken ten steps. She thought she was dead, but instead of draining her blood, de Vries said he wanted to speak with her.

They began to walk and by the end of that fifteen-minute conversation, Short Eyes knew she would follow de Vries anywhere. When he told her he would be headed for UCAS soon, and asked if she would accompany him, she hadn’t needed to think twice before accepting. She pledged her life to the cause, and no force of darkness, no matter how terrible, would ever sway her from her course.

Through the boom cameras field of vision, Short Eyes saw that the funeral was over and that Marco D’imato was being wheeled away from the grave as the casket finished its short descent.

The man standing behind Marco stopped for a moment and gestured for a younger man to approach. The latter was the one who’d come speeding up to the funeral gates, his sports car moving like the devil himself were giving chase.

Short Eyes zoomed in to catch a close-up of him, and she didn’t have to be a genius to see the physical similarities between the young man and the older one pushing Marco’s wheel chair.

Something in the young man’s manner caught Short Eyes attention. Unlike the rest of the mourners, who had approached both of the older men with respect and deference, this one seemed to show Marco cold indifference. That only broke when he shook the hand of the other man, whom she guessed was his father. The respect and admiration were apparent on both of their faces.