"One may act like a savage, but at least he must be well dressed," he stated. "Not that it makes sense to me, but that's what His Lordship demands."

"Do you know if the person who recruited you had anything to do with the taxes?"

"How would I know? I don't live here, and nobles aren't exactly eager to reveal their plans to the first person they meet. All I can tell you is that, whatever the plan was, it was crucial that no one recognize me walking the streets during the day when I wasn't working on this."

That's why, as he explained, Sforza had prepared a spot for him in the stables to spend his free time. Apparently, Girolamo wasn't allowed to leave the service area of the manor during daylight hours. Likewise, the people he could talk to were very limited.

Sforza had been providing him with food and a bed for the past few weeks, in exchange for fulfilling his mission: he wasn't supposed to kill anyone—just scare them and leave the mark.

"Can I go now?" Girolamo asked once he finished telling everything he knew. "Sorry about the rock and... the rest. A man has to earn his bread somehow."

"I see no point in detaining you," Raffaele sighed. As much as the victims deserved justice, it was clear none would be served while Sforza remained in charge of the whole operation.

"Will you return the little box then?" Seeing no one moving to do so, Girolamo, who had finally stood up, pleaded, "Come on, how else am I supposed to keep working?"

"No more continuing. If I see you chasing innocent people with a rock again, I'll come for you."

An awkward silence followed Raffaele's threat. Then Girolamo whispered:

"Can I go after the non-innocent ones?"

"You can't go after anyone! And this is being confiscated now!" Raffaele, usually so sweet to everyone, now seemed to have lost all patience. "From me to you—don't let me see you around here again."

Whether Girolamo would heed the advice or carry on as before remained to be seen. He eventually left, grumbling under his breath about how capricious aristocrats were and how the common folk had no respect, going around stealing an honest man's work tools.

In any case, no one listened to him. After pocketing the box in his own coat, Dom turned to Raffaele.

That thing he had seen earlier in his eyes, the one that had frightened Girolamo through most of the conversation, had vanished. Raffaele was back to his usual self—no one in their right mind would accuse him of being anything other than human.

No one, of course, except someone who had witnessed the scene from a few minutes earlier.

"I guess I should thank you. My head might be hard, but I think it would've still taken some damage if the blow had landed," Dom said. "Was it just a coincidence that you showed up at the right moment, or...?"

"I assure you there was no special power involved. We just happened to be on the same street while I was looking for you."

"Either way, thanks for the timely help. I don't know what would've happened if you hadn't acted in time," —A blatant lie: He knew full well. He would've ended up unconscious on the ground, since beyond some light military training, he was in no shape to fend off such a direct attack—, "but I figure it wouldn't have gone too well for me. Now, can we get back to our earlier discussion?"

"The one about me not telling you I was a vampire?" Raffaele smiled. "Oh, but I did! Many times, in fact."

The worst part was that Dom realized here that Raffaele was right.

That conversation by the fireplace, where he hinted he might be a vampire, was just the first of many times over the next two weeks that Raffaele had tried to send the same message—subtly, over and over.

Never as blatantly as in the underground, when he flat-out claimed to be a vampire—and even seemed excited about it, as if expecting praise—but in more roundabout ways. With surreal comments like, "Have you noticed I don't seem to cast a shadow today?" or remarks like, "If I were a vampire, this is what I'd do... Oh, look! It's exactly what I was doing!"

All things that might raise suspicion... if Dom didn't know him at all.

"I thought you were joking," he admitted, a bit embarrassed.

"Yes, I figured that would be your reaction."

"Why didn't you just tell me directly?" And, remembering that first and only time Raffaele had done so, he added, "I mean, after that. All that time we were living together."

"I didn't want to scare you, and the first time you weren't very receptive. So I figured the best thing was to reveal it slowly, with subtle hints, and wait for you to connect the dots."

And yes, that would've been the right approach—if not for how stubborn Dom turned out to be. He wanted to pick up Girolamo's stone and hit himself with it.

"Are you angry?" Raffaele asked, perhaps a bit worried by Dom's new silence.

"No," Dom replied quickly. "Or I am, but at myself. How the hell didn't I figure it out? It was obvious from the start!"

"It wasn't that obvious. I tend to hide it quite well." Although, after thinking it over for a few seconds, he admitted, "Maybe one or two of my comments gave me away... but it couldn't have been too bad if a professional like you didn't notice."

"Of course—the masks!"

"What?"

"Ever since I saw them, deep down I always knew that was the key to everything. No ordinary mortal would have such a collection."

"Oh, I get it. You mean because it's such a big collection and it would take decades to complete, right?" Raffaele suggested. "Although that's a fair thought, I assure you that with the funds and the right suppliers, it's not that hard to get a decent one in a few years."

Dom went quiet for a moment, before saying:

"Yes, that's it. Exactly what I was thinking."

It had nothing to do with the eccentric nature of the hobby. The truth was, Dom was just looking for any excuse not to admit he'd been completely blind.

"Come on, let's go home," Raffaele proposed, in a cheerful tone. "I've got so much to tell you, now that the secret's finally out."