It should have been quite the moral dilemma to decide whether or not to accept that invitation. Because, even though all that nonsense about a bloodsucking vampire still sounded like utter foolishness to him, there was no denying that Raffaele's behavior was, at the very least, suspicious.

Who the hell would move into a crumbling castle in the middle of nowhere, with no services whatsoever?

Because Dom was certain this man hadn't brought any servants with him; otherwise, he wouldn't have answered the door himself—nobility had a way of developing a certain allergy to the most mundane household chores. And what was with all that unwavering kindness? After inviting him inside, Raffaele had introduced himself, learned his name, and even asked him to refrain from using formal language.

"I'm just another person from this town, there's no need to treat me like the Lord of these lands," he had said as an excuse. And the worst part? He actually sounded convincing.

Was he really a monster planning to eat him? But if Dom refused to enter the castle—putting aside whatever Raffaele might think of him after such a rejection—he would also lose the chance to find out what had happened to poor Ciro.

Dom stood there, one foot inside the castle and the other still outside, for just about five seconds.

Five seconds—that was how long it took for Raffaele to open the door wider, allowing him a better view of the interior of his brand-new home. And what a contrast to the exterior! From where he stood, Dom caught a glimpse of a cozy sitting room, furnished as if it belonged in a palace, with intricately designed rugs covering most of the floor and multiple paintings and decorative statuettes strategically placed in every empty corner.

If this could be described as a gloomy, abandoned place, then the shared room Dom had been allowed to use at the tavern should be considered little more than a rat-infested crypt!

No, it was obvious that Dom wasn't going to hesitate for long before stepping inside. And if it turned out that Raffaele was a bloodthirsty murderer—or something worse... well, at least he would spend his final hours somewhere warm.

There was still some honor in death.

"Pardon the mess, moving in has been a bit chaotic," Raffaele commented once Dom had settled into one of the armchairs in the living room while the host poured the tea he had offered. "Though I suppose that's to be expected after coming from so far away."

"When you say far away, you mean...?"

"Abroad—Flanders, to be specific. I spent several years traveling through Europe, but I've finally decided to return to my homeland. Brussels is a beautiful place to live, but lately, it's become too noisy, and getting any sleep during the day has become impossible."

"I suppose people are too busy to stop and rest for a while."

Wasn't Flanders at war for several years now? Dom didn't know the details of the conflict, having only heard about it in passing during his travels, and he wasn't particularly interested in learning how it was unfolding. He already had enough chaos to deal with thanks to the trouble the French were stirring up in Savoy.

He couldn't care less who Louis XIV wanted to throw punches with hundreds of leagues away.

"Although," he continued, deciding to give Raffaele the benefit of the doubt, "I must admit, if I had the chance, I'd also like to nap during daylight hours. They say the countryside is peaceful and quiet, that no one bothers you... But I've learned that's nonsense. Something always wakes me up—if not the animals having an accident right on top of me, then the neighbors showing up to tell me I'm in their way."

Because even if there wasn't a single soul within fifty meters, the moment Dom sat his ass down in a haystack or on someone else's bench, someone would materialize out of nowhere just to complain.

"That's precisely why I always make sure to settle in places that are difficult to access or, failing that, have walls so thick that no one outside can hear the screams coming from within."

Raffaele paused here, reconsidering what he had just said.

"Not that I make that much noise, of course—it's just a manner of speaking."

"Well, I doubt you could make much noise anyway, seeing as you live alone... Because you do live alone, don't you?"

That question wasn't exactly a polite one, Dom realized right after asking it. After all, making sure that a seemingly wealthy man was alone in a large house sounded more like the strategy of a thief than that of a casual traveler.

Then again, Raffaele didn't seem particularly attached to social formalities. He proved as much when he answered, without the slightest hint of shame:

"I'm completely and utterly alone. Maybe I should have brought a retinue of servants, given how much work still needs to be done here, but I didn't want to seem pretentious."

"Is that even possible?" It was the first time Dom had heard of a privileged man worrying about what others might think of him based on how many people he had working for him. "I figured at the very least you'd have someone handling the cooking."

"I did consider bringing someone, yes, but the only person who truly knows my tastes is a dear friend of mine... and she would have no qualms about sending me straight to hell if I even dared to suggest that she work for me."

"How so? Are your tastes so refined that no one else can meet your standards?"

Realizing that perhaps—just perhaps—Raffaele might take offense to that, Dom quickly added:

"Not that it's a bad thing! I was just thinking that it must be terribly inconvenient."

"It is a nuisance, but I don't have much of a choice. I have to follow a strict diet for health reasons and can't consume what most mortals do."

"What... kind of diet?"

"Nothing unusual, really. I must consume natural products, sourced from the earth, and untouched by human hands. Things like that tea you're drinking, for example."

That made Dom stop mid-sip. Would it be unforgivable to spit out the tea right then and there?

No, he shouldn't let himself be scared by uncertain information. The tea Raffaele had served him looked reddish, but it didn't smell bad, nor did it have any strange taste.

"It's hibiscus," Raffaele explained, perfectly at ease. "You have no idea how many of my meals and drinks are plant-based."

Dom exhaled in relief and continued drinking without further incident.

"This must be the first time I've met a Pythagorean," he murmured, thinking that it was truly unfortunate to be able to afford meat several times a week yet be unable to eat it for medical reasons. "I hope it's nothing serious."

"No, nothing to worry about as long as I stay away from those kinds of foods. Mine is more of a debilitating condition if I consume certain things. As long as I stick to my diet, I have no symptoms."

"That's good to know."

Dom was beginning to notice, on that note, that Raffaele had poured himself a cup of tea using the same teapot he had used for Dom's. In other words, if he wanted to be cynical about it, he could safely rule out the possibility that his new neighbor was consuming blood like it was the most exotic delicacy right under his nose.

"There's something I have to admit at this point," Dom began, mustering his courage, "and it's that when I stepped inside, I wasn't expecting to meet someone like you in this castle."

"The villagers didn't warn you that I'd moved in?" Raffaele asked, raising an eyebrow. "Strange. Lately, it feels like that's all they talk about. Every time I take a walk through the main streets, I always catch people glancing at me from the corner of their eyes, whispering about me. I think they like me, but they're too shy to approach."

"Oh, they must like you a lot," Dom said dryly. "Because one of the first things they did when I arrived was talk to me about you."

Not in a good way, he thought, but Raffaele seemed as delighted as a child with a new toy, so Dom decided to keep that to himself.

"Though that's not what I was getting at. The villagers also mentioned that another man used to stay around here, someone named Ciro. I thought he might be interested in my goods or, at the very least, since he's familiar with the area, he could point me in the safest direction to continue my journey."

"Ah, yes, I remember him well. He's the same fellow who forgot to return the blankets and pots he borrowed when my attendants were still here setting things up for my move," Raffaele said without a hint of resentment. "Poor devil, without a roof over his head. When I finally arrived in these parts, I told him he could use my guest room if he wanted. He was more than happy to accept."

"So he's still here?"

"Oh, no, no! He left long ago! He didn't stay more than three days—he couldn't take it."

"...Couldn't take it?"

Was the guest room some kind of damp, lightless dungeon where no living being could survive more than a few hours?

"He told me a terrible story," Raffaele said solemnly. "Apparently, he was the eldest of nine siblings, and since they had no money and their father was a hopeless drunk who abandoned the family, it was up to Ciro to support them all."

"No one told me that," Dom muttered under his breath. Then again, he hadn't asked. Finding out what happened to Ciro had been the priority.

"To provide for them," Raffaele continued, "he took up fishing at a very young age, since he lived in the south, in a coastal village. But about thirty years ago, there was a terrible storm that left his boat adrift until it eventually wrecked on the shores of Genoa."

"That's awful. The sea can be treacherous."

"Since then, Ciro has been trying to make his way back south. But he doesn't have the means, and to make matters worse, he recently found out that his elderly mother is ill. So whatever little money he manages to scrape together from odd jobs, he has to send to his family to help them."

"Hmm... Not to sound insensitive, but what does any of this have to do with Ciro's current whereabouts?"

"I was getting to that—I paid for him to return to his people."

"...What?"

"He seemed so miserable here, sleeping out in the open with nothing but a bottle of wine for company... As soon as I offered him enough money to take a ship back to Bari and still have some left to help his family, he left here overjoyed."

Friend, you've been swindled, Dom thought immediately.

But instead of saying that outright, he opted for a more tactful approach—one that didn't make it sound like he was about to call Raffaele a fool to his face.

"And how do you know he was telling the truth? That he actually has relatives waiting for him? It's been decades since he left Bari."

"I had the same doubts," Raffaele admitted. "But he showed me proof. Look—"

With that, he got up and rummaged through a nearby drawer. Barely a minute later, he returned with a piece of paper in hand and gave it to Dom.

"This is a drawing done by a local artist, a likeness of Ciro's family. They had this little portrait made back when he still lived in Bari, so it's the only keepsake he had of them all these years."

"Well, isn't it a bit strange that you have it now?"

"He gave it to me himself, as thanks for the help I gave him. He said he didn't need it anymore, since he was finally going to see his family in person."

Dom could have suspected that Raffaele had found a way to get rid of Ciro in the worst possible manner, and that the pencil sketch was nothing more than a convenient trick to make the world believe he was innocent, but—

Dom recognized that drawing instantly.

Not because he had ever dealt with Ciro or his supposed relatives. But because he knew the artist's handiwork.

A man named Gronchi, who made a living selling sketches to every con artist in Milan, where he was based.

Dom himself had used his services once or twice—to have maps drawn of the roads ahead, depending on where he wanted to go. Gronchi also offered that kind of work. And though he was infamous among criminals for drawing portraits of people who didn't actually exist, Dom had always found the idea of commissioning fake family drawings to scam people a step too far.

Even a conman had a heart.

"I hope Ciro made it home safely and was reunited with his family," Dom finally said, keeping his expression neutral as he handed the paper back to Raffaele.

It was better not to tell this man the truth. What good would it do? It would only disappoint him, and after more than a month away from the village, it was clear that catching Ciro was an impossibility.

No, it was far better if Raffaele never found out he'd been robbed right to his face and instead held onto the belief that he had given his money for a good cause.

At this point, there only seemed to be two possibilities: either the new owner of this castle was the least cunning vampire in history, or he was an ordinary human, just the most naive one imaginable.

Dom leaned toward the latter, since so far, there had been no signs of danger. And if Raffaele really were a monster, wouldn't he have taken the opportunity to pounce on him the moment they were alone inside the fortress?

Unless, of course, he was saving the massacre for later, when he got hungry...

Dom refused to let paranoia get the better of him. Raffaele was trying to be kind, and Dom was more than willing to accept that kindness. He'd be a fool not to.

So, even though he was now fairly certain that Ciro had left these lands of his own accord, he had no qualms about accepting the tour Raffaele had promised to give him of his new property.

There might not be a body to find, but perhaps Dom would still come across something worth noting.