Page 7 of Be Still My Unbeating Heart

“Confess, and we will proceed,” he said.

“You’ve got this all wrong,” Bastian said. “I came here on holiday, just arrived, in fact. Your town is beautiful and—”

“And you got hungry on the trip. We’ve seen it time and again in the Cinque Terre.” Zappa’s eyes narrowed. “But Vernazza has been vampire-free for over twenty years, and I intend to keep it that way.”

“Yes, I noticed the hardware.” Bastian grimaced as he moved his hands and the silver cuffs scored fresh, agonizing lines into his skin. “But I don’t eat people, dear. I’ve been clean for five years. It’s strictly farm animals for me.”

“You buying this, De Luca?” Zappa sneered over his shoulder. The younger poliziotto glanced at Bastian, his stare piercing. So blue, it sent a chill through him.

“No, sir.”

The man’s voice was satin smooth compared to the commissario’s burr, the accent less pronounced.

“You have an accomplice,” Zappa said. “You will surrender her name and address immediately.”

“Accomplice?” Bastian was thrown by the suggestion, until he remembered the commissario’s confusion when Whitby spoke on the beach. “That wasn’t my accomplice, darling. It was my cat.”

“You think this is funny?” Zappa snapped.

“Far from it, Signore.”

Zappa didn’t blink. He slid a file across the desk toward Bastian.

“You will sign this document, which states what we already know, that you murdered a resident of Vernazza, one Luna Esposito—”

“I’m not signing anything!” Bastian interrupted. He frownedat the poliziotto. “Isn’t this above your pay grade,Commissario? A magistrate should be here, and you should be offering me a lawyer. I’ve seen enough Italian cop shows to know that.”

Zappa’s teeth clenched as he said, “The Vampire Accords supersede such legal processes. You are a vampire who killed on protected ground. You have no right to a magistrateora lawyer. Now, you will sign—”

“Are you listening to me?” Bastian interrupted, frustration heating his voice. “If I was going to kill somebody and try to get away with it, do you really think I’d do it like that?”

Zappa’s top lip peeled back from his teeth. “I wouldn’t like to imagine how you think, vampire.”

Bastian emitted an irritated cry.

“Jesus,yes, love, I know I’m a vampire, we’reallaware I’m a vampire, but I’m not akiller.”

Not anymore. He hadn’t taken a life in years, and it felt good to shatter that stereotype. He had gone against plenty of grains in his time, but this was different. A vampire who valued human life was the definition of enlightened.

“Can you hear me?” he said. “I didn’t do this. I’d have to be stupid to tear a person’s throat out and expect to get away with it.”

“Yes.” Zappa sneered. “You would.”

In his eyes, Bastian saw judgment. He saw prejudice, disgust, and fierce, hard certainty. It had been a while since somebody had looked at him like that, and the sight sparked fire in Bastian’s chest. It stirred memories that threatened to catch light and smolder through him. He felt the razor’s edge of an old rage that he thought he had tamed, and he almost smiled as he imagined puncturing the commissario’s jugular with his fangs. It would feel good to wipe that bigoted look from his face.

But no, he had to remain calm. Civil. He would gain nothing from losing his temper.

“I know how this looks—” he began to say, but Zappa jabbed the table with a thick finger.

“We both know you did this, vampire, so just save us a lot of time and confess.”

“Have you ever met a vampire before, Commissario?” Bastian asked, his patience thinning, the pain in his wrists unrelenting. “Any other vampire would be throwing themselves around this room attempting to reach your throat.”

Zappa’s face stiffened. “Is that a threat?”

“I wish!” Bastian cried. “Iwish! But that isn’t me. That’s what I’m telling you. I’m different. I’m a fluffy kitten compared to most vampires.” He emitted a plaintivemewto illustrate his point. “And, look, do you really think I’d kill somebody wearinglinen? Absolute nightmare to get blood out of, and there’s not a speck on me.”

“Enough!” Zappa yelled. He shook his head and scratched his fingers through his silver hair, muttering something in Italian that sounded like, “No conscience. Complete monster.”