Chapter Text
i.
You had seen him one time before - only once had you seen the man who had brought misfortune into your life. When you had first laid eyes on him you had vowed to be no part of his life nor did you wish to be involved with him, but evidently he had other plans.
He was a demon, a devil in disguise and, above all else, he was dangerous. He knew things about you that you did not even know about yourself and he pulled those things forward - whether you wanted him to or not.
He was mounting for war and was going to drag you down into his villainous schemes - into the underworld of despair. Into his dark and deadly world because that was where you belonged - wasn't it?
----
You entered like a whirlwind.
It wasn't like the glorious entrances you read about in books or saw in movies, no it was plainer and a thousand times less glamorous. The bitter October wind dodged your footsteps and lingered about your double-breasted coat jacket - tickling the edges of the fabric. A few rogue leaves scattered in your wake, swirling about on the floor before you closed the door; the patrons of Rizzoli's grimaced at the cold that nipped at their seated figures.
As it seemed, Jaclyn was the hostess tonight. She wore the all black uniform required of the waitressing staff of Rizzoli's and she seemed to shimmer in the low-light that greeted you upon your arrival. Her natural beauty was one to be admired by all and by heavens you knew of the men who flocked to her and attempted to woo a girl of such stunning glamour.
You, on the other hand, were as plain as toast - or that's how you liked to put it. Boring and bland _____. You were nothing to look at and you had been told that many times by countless people, but it was not that you really minded. The destiny of plainness that awaited you was something that you had embraced years ago and instead of moping about it you had accepted the life given to you - no one could change the fates.
You brushed a stray strand of (h/c) (h/l) hair out of your (e/c) eyes as you befitted Jaclyn with your trademark smile. The one thing about you that stood in stark contrast to your bland appearance was your smile. Smiling seemed to be something you did constantly, but never once was your smile insincere. You always hoped you could lift someone's spirits with a friendly face and a good bout of hearty jokes and sarcasm.
She smiled back at you - perfect orthodontist orchestrated teeth glimmering in the light - as she casually flipped her auburn hair off her shoulder. Not skipping a beat, she slid a small stack of menus in your direction and leaned on the table - staring directly into your (e/c) eyes.
"You are here early!" she commented happily. "Since you are, can you take these menus to the back? Boss just fixed the meal list today and these haven't been edited yet!"
You shot a mischievous smile in Jaclyn's direction as she slid the menus across the small hostess table towards you.
"Boss decided to add another 'meraviglioso*' meal to the menu?" you asked curiously.
"Always does." Jaclyn replied with a conspiring wink.
The two of you shared a small snicker at your boss' expense before you bid your colleague ado and made your way to the back to put down your coat. You slipped past the patrons you would soon be serving; smiling at anyone who made eye contact with you. Many of the regulars tipped their heads in your direction and soon you struck forth conversation with the numerous people who often chose Rizzoli's as their Friday night dinner destination. Mr. Massimiliano's tomato plants were budding, Ms. Capriccio recently bought a new car, and the Percutio family was visiting Rome this month.
You weaved your way sinuously past the tables, wearing a smile the whole way. Your numerous years of working at this fine Italian restaurant had made you familiar with the customers and the staff. Some joked your heart was made of Rizzoli's pasta! The statement sounded rather absurd, but you wore that badge with pride - in truth you did love Rizzoli's very much. The jet black swinging doors that led to the back kitchen quickly came into view, but your swift promenade to the kitchens was halted by your co-worker Bellisa. The thin, blonde, and tan woman stepped into your view before you had a chance to even process what was happening.
"_____, thank goodness you are here! I need a break so badly, like seriously, why does the boss think I can work for like three hours without a decent coffee break." Bellisa commented while giving her brown eyes a roll.
You smiled awkwardly, but inwardly you despised how much Bellisa continued to complain about how much work she had to do. If anything, you worked harder than her, but you never breathed a word of complaining to anyone. Knowing Bellisa, her Starbucks addiction was already setting in and she was in dire need of a caramel macchiato or something.
"So can you take over right now or....?" the blonde questioned, snapping you out of your reverie.
"Um, yeah I guess, but only if you can take my coat and these menus to the back for me."
Bellisa nodded feverishly and you dumped the menus into her hands then proceeded to quickly unbutton your coat so you could hand it off to her. The blonde took your coat with one manicured hand and handed off her waitress pad to you.
"Thanks _____, you are a doll." Bellisa commented while flashing you a pleased smile.
"Don't mention it, now who were you about to serve next?" you asked curiously looking around to see which table in Bellisa's area had yet to be served food.
"Oh, that man over there by the back. I was just about to get his order."
Bellisa pointed a gorgeous fingernail in the direction of a man about your age who was, at the moment, scowling at you.
"He seems nice." you stated dryly.
"Doesn't he though?" Bellisa said, rolling right over your sarcasm.
"Alright, I shall deal with him next then. Thanks Bellisa, enjoy your break."
"Of course, love. Toodles."
The blonde waved a hand at you absentmindedly as she strutted towards the kitchen, your coat over her arm and the menus balancing on top of it. Glancing over at your next customer, you found him still glaring daggers in your direction. Taking a deep breath, you made your way to his table - it was one that sat in the farthest corner of the dining room. His table was secluded by shadow; you could not help but feel this ominous and slightly discerning. Upon stepping up to where he was seated, you placed a smile on your lips and readied yourself for whatever was to come.
"Good evening sir, might I take your order?" you asked in your most polite tones.
The man, who had stopped glaring at you upon realising you were making your way to his table, slowly lifted his eyes to glance at your form before grunting in response and returning his attention to the menu. He moved with such fluid and precise movements you wondered if he was someone rich or even famous. Or maybe he was from the army, you thought to yourself - that made more sense really.
After a few seconds of awkward silence, you coughed into your hand and were successful in gaining your customer's attention. He raised a delicate, auburn eyebrow and he fully gazed at you. Your smile turned slightly deadly as you both stared at each other. You took this chance to examine the man who would most likely cause you a lot of annoyance this evening.
Short and somewhat unruly auburn hair decorated his head - curling and resting in odd directions as if it was trying to escape his presence - an old fashioned Italian brigade hat sat upon his head, it was historically accurate down to the last detail. A curl - defying all gravity - stuck out from the right side of his head and no matter which direction he moved the curl seemed to continue to reach for the ceiling above.
His eyes were a curious red color that bore hints of brown lingering inside of them – marbled like an opal or a precious stone. He sat lazily in his chair, as if this restaurant was neither worth his time nor his patronage and you could sense a calculating air about him. The clothes he wore were clean and pressed - looking subtle - but you could instantly tell they were brand name and Italian brand name at that. Part of you wanted to think that this man had flown all the way to Milan itself to purchase the clothes he wore, they certainly looked expensive enough.
Underneath the layers of his clothing, you knew he bared a strong physique as whenever he moved, his muscles became apparent. Your eyes returned to his face. He was devilishly handsome, like a man from a movie or a book who played the troublesome man that seduced the heroine. One thing was for sure, he was trouble and you wanted nothing to do with him.
"Are you ready to order sir?" you questioned, drawing yourself out of your calculating examination.
Instead of ignoring you, this time the man gave you his full attention - albeit he moved slower than molasses.
"Si, I am ready to order ragazza." he replied, Italian accent thick in his speech.
Part of you was shocked at the lilting accent rich in his voice, but the other part found this Italian heritage he must possess natural - after all he was wearing Italian brand clothes and an Italian brigade hat.
"Alright, what would you like to order?"
You poised your pen, ready to take down the name of the dish he requested.
"Hmm, I was thinking the Rizzoli's house pasta special."
"Good choice, good choice. Anything to go with that?"
To your luck, it seemed this man was not going to be too problematic after all.
"Si, some vino would be nice."
The man was now reclined in his chair, staring at you bemusedly.
"Okay, wine it is! Anything else?"
"Hmm, oh yes. How foolish of mio. I was hoping to have something special in my pasta sauce. That is not a problem, si?"
"No, not a problem at all, as long as the cooks have this ingredient you request."
"Oh si, you have this ingredient, lots of it."
"Hmm, is that so? Well then, what ingredient could this be?"
You raised your eyebrow at him now, looking over the edge of your waitress pad bemusedly.
"Sangue."
You blanched at him. Did he really just ask for blood on his pasta? Was he serious? He could not have been serious. You supposed he was just hoping to get a startled or flustered reaction out of you - well you weren't going to play that game. A bark of laughter escaped your lips.
"Ha! I am sorry, but we cannot accommodate that request sir. I'll go put your order in now."
Turning fluidly, you stalked off to the kitchens to give the cooks his order before he had a chance to do anything else that was stupid or mocking. You pushed open the jet black kitchen doors and savored the scent of pesto and tomatoes - tonight was going to be long and you knew it.
----
Business had picked up.
Almost instantly, the night had become a swirling mass of patrons and meals. You had been on your feet for the few hours now, but the night was still young and Rizzoli's was almost completely full. Pasta dish after pasta dish had been served and right now you felt like sitting down to catch your breath.
One thing that hadn't changed over the hours was the presence of your annoying friend, Mr. Italian man who sat in the back corner. He kept ordering glasses of wine and you had watched him down each one casually, as if drunkenness was an ailment that could not touch him. Out of the corner of your eyes, you could catch him scowling at you or staring seductively at one of the other waitresses. As it seemed he was vying for female attention, but you certainly were not what he considered 'worth his time.'
Not that this particularly bugged you.
Actually, you found the unfolding of his actions rather amusing. Both Bellisa, who had ended up being forced by your boss to take your usual area, and Jaclyn had been flirting shamelessly with your little Italian friend. Some of the male waiters had been more than a little annoyed with this man's shameless flirting and stunning looks that they had formed a small posse united against him. Most of the other waitresses had been giving the Italian soppy looks, but only Jaclyn and Bellisa had been gaining his full attention. It seemed that you were the only one immune to his insane good looks - or at least that is what Jaclyn had been calling them.
Even your boss had come out to catch a glimpse of the rumored gorgeous customer and he had been amused to say the least. Old man Rizzoli had shook his head upon seeing the man and had muttered some words in Italian that you were unable to comprehend - albeit being that you had been learning Italian for three years now. Now, as you were setting another glass of wine down in front of him, you decided to ask him if he wanted anything else. This man's actions were striking you as odd; he had finished his meal a long time ago so why wasn't he leaving? Was he going to dine and dash?
"Would you like anything else?" you asked patiently.
"No."
Okay, this was starting to get annoying. Without much warning, you slammed your hands down on the table and looked your Italian customer straight in the eyes.
"How long do you plan on staying here?" you asked in an angry whisper.
"What do you mean? I am a paying customer. Shouldn't I be allowed to stay as long as I want?" he whispered back, taking a sip of his wine.
You raised an eyebrow at him.
"Sure, but the thing is you haven't actually paid for anything. You've drank more wine than a drunkard would, heck, more wine than a drunkard could afford! I am not one to unnecessarily worry, but I fear you wish to dine and dash. Unless you can prove to me that you have enough money to pay for what you have ordered."
Slowly, he turned to look at you. Finally, you had grabbed his attention.
"Oh mio Dio ragazza, you certainly like to become flustered over small things, si?"
"Excuse me?"
With a sigh, he pulled out a thick wad of bills, but he did not wave them about like a rich man would - it seemed he had some sort of street smarts bred into him.
"Look ragazza, I could buy this place with just my spiccioli**, si?"
As much as you hated to admit that he was right, he did have quite a bit of money - a ridiculous amount really.
"Ah, okay, but at least stop flirting with the waitress'. It is distracting them from their work and you're making the men angry."
"Hmm, or maybe you are just jealous."
You snorted.
"As if. I have no interest in men like you. You probably take more time to do your hair in the morning than me and, frankly, I find that weird and vain. As it seems, you only care about yourself and nobody else."
With that, you floated away to another table that you had to serve. If you had thought you weren't getting a tip before from your Italian friend, you had confirmed that idea now. Frankly, you did not want to take money from that man. How did he come to get so much money? Was he a mafia boss or something?
As you shook your head at your absurd ideas, you did not notice the Italian man who was now watching you intently as he sipped his wine. You had finally gained his attention alright, but maybe not in the way you had intended.
----
Finally it was closing time and Rizzoli's was just about empty. The last few patrons were grabbing their coats, thanking the staff and heading for the door. One person was lingering behind as you were finishing the cleaning of the tables, one person who had been lingering all night: the Italian customer.
You did not know his name so you had just been referring to him as the Italian - frankly, you did not want to know his name. That would mean you were one step closer to becoming friends or something of the like and you did not want that.
"Hey pal, it is time to go." said one of the beefier male waiters.
Out of the corner of your eyes you could see the Italian glance in your direction for a split second then size up the waiter. You held your breath. Would he leave? He let out a long sigh.
"Va bene***, I am going, I am going."
Now it was your turn to let out a long sigh. To your relief, he had paid in full for his drawn out meal, but his lingering was sort of freaking you out. You would probably find yourself feeling paranoid as you walked home tonight - you glanced at the kitchens door - good thing you carried mace in your coat pocket.
The closing of the restaurant door pulled you back to the real world. You moved to the final table you were to clean and of all ironies, it was the Italian's abandoned table. Muttering to yourself, you wiped down the table. He had left it relatively clean, only a few drops of wine here and there.
Clang.
You paused your wiping. When was the last time the table made a clanging noise when you cleaned it? You peered under the table wondering if something had dropped. To your surprise something had fallen, but it was certainly something you hadn't seen before. An odd looking pendant was resting between two of the metal stands that help support the table. It must have made the clanging noise when it fell from the table and collided with the metal supports.
"Now what do we have here?" you murmured to yourself as you picked up the pendant.
It was the oddest looking thing. The beautiful golden metal was shaped into two serpents devouring each other's tales and a spider web of gold was suspended between the two snakes. In the dead center of the web was a faintly glowing red jewel that almost perfectly matched the Italian's eyes. How odd.
Turning the beautiful pendant over in your hands, you found an engraving on the back of the golden piece of jewellery.
"Vivere è la notte del vampiro?" You read aloud rather confused.
It took you a moment to decipher what the engraving meant.
"Living is the night of the vampire. What is that about?" you questioned.
Maybe the Italian patron was interested in occult stuff or something - it was a big trend now a days. Underneath the dainty Italian engraving was yet another engraving, but the words imprinted below were not some sort of Italian occult saying. It was a name.
"Luciano Vargas? Well I guess I get to know the name of the man who harassed me all night."
"I would not say I harassed you ragazza."
You jumped and let out a small squeal.
"When did you return? I did not even hear the door open!" you exclaimed as you turned to face the Italian man who had snuck up on you.
"You were lost in your own thoughts ragazza. Nothing I could do about that."
You both stared at each other for a few minutes before you pushed the pendant back into his hands.
"Grazie ragazza. I returned to retrieve it as I realized I had forgotten it."
"Well, you should take better care of your trinkets then." you mumbled to yourself as you turned to finish your table cleaning duties.
"Well _____ I should be going now, si."
You almost dropped your cleaning rag.
"How do you know my name?" you asked whirling around to face him again.
"Ha, you are funny ragazza." he smirked at you as he lazily put his hand in his pocket. "I picked up your name from that Bellisa waitress. Technically I should know your name, si? A good waitress is supposed to announce herself to her avventore****."
You flushed from embarrassment. He did have a point; you had forgotten to mention your name upon serving him and it was an important thing to do. You must have felt wary of this man from the start and for him to ask Bellisa for your name - that sounded very much like prying.
"Well, I guess I know your name now so we are even." you stated glancing at the pendant that was still in his hands.
The thought of the pendant caused you to pause.
"Do you like the occult or something?" you asked curiously.
His eyebrows drew into a frown.
"Whatever do you mean ragazza?" he asked.
"Well, um, your pendant is very interesting to say the least. Two serpents devouring each other's tails, a spider web, the odd red gem and the interesting engraving on the back. If I didn't know better I would think it was some old magic item."
His eyebrows raised just the slightest bit, but that was all the reaction you could see on his face.
"You are a funny ragazza. Si, I do enjoy the occult as you call it. Magical things do intrigue me greatly."
"Hmm, well at least that explains that." You glanced up at the clock. "Ah, I think it best for you to leave now. Mostly everyone has left by now or they are in the back finishing the cleaning so you should go before anyone sees you, okay?"
You started ushering him to the door hurriedly - not wanting the beefy waiter, Jean, to come back and find you talking to the man he had just kicked out.
"Va bene ragazza, no need to push me - I can walk on my own."
"Sorry, sorry!" you said removing your hands from his back as he pushed his way out the door.
"Ragazza?" he asked just before the door closed.
"Si?"
You caught the glass door just before it closed and poked your head around it to get a better view of this Luciano Vargas man. He gazed into your (e/c) eyes for a second before planting a kiss on your lips.
You had never been kissed by a man before in your life and it was really a marvelous feeling. He pressed against you and you almost lost your grip on the door, but your brain was still working so you made sure not to let the glass door slip between your fingers. One of his hands was on the back of your head; the other was stroking your cheek tenderly. He tasted of iron and pasta - an odd mix.
The idea of being kissed by some Italian man who had been annoying you all evening wasn't really appealing to you, but you let him kiss you for a few seconds before you pushed him away in shock. His gloved hand was still stroking your cheek as he winked at you mischievously. The corners of his mouth upturned into a smile and white, pointed teeth twinkled at you in the dark.
"I have a love for magical things very much ragazza; don't you forget that, si?"
"S-si." you stuttered out.
You had to look away from the Italian man who was still watching you intently as he walked away. Trying to look busy, you glanced at the door you were still holding open and sighed as you tested the outside handle. It surely wasn't locked if Luciano had been able to come back in so you figured you would lock it now to make sure no other people could come barging into the restaurant.
To your shock, the door had been locked. Your eyebrows drew together into a frown. Then how did the Italian come back inside? Unless....no it couldn't be! You glanced up again, hoping to find him still walking down the street.
But he was gone.
----
He watched her look around, startled, before she disappeared back inside the restaurant shaking her head. She was no stupid girl and could probably guess at what he was.
Good.
The curiosity and air of mystery he had cloaked himself in would draw her to him. She would come looking for him if she had the chance and, oh boy, he was going to give her the chance. He smirked to himself happily. He had been alive for thousands of years, but this game of cat and mouse always amused him.
Sliding his cellphone out of his pocket, he turned it on. Dialing the number he knew by heart, he waited for the response on the other side. A gruff German voice could be heard through the speakers.
"Ciao Lutz, si I found it. Si, a shadow walker."