With nothing better to do and still worn-out, Reine headed back to bed. She woke up several hours later with a stiff neck. A walk outside would surely do her good. Pulling on her shoes and finding her jacket draped over a chair, she opened the bedroom door just as Mikey and two female companions walked by.

"Hey, beautiful," He said, winking at her even though he had his arms around the mini skirt wearing girls.

She smiled and used the same greeting he did earlier. "What's up."

"Just showing my guests around." He led the giggling girls to the room one door down from hers.

"Have fun," she said as she headed for the stairs, knowing exactly what was going on and not wanting to hear the rest.

As she stepped out the front door, she heard sounds coming from nearby. They turned out to be from an adjacent six-car garage. All three of the double-wide doors were open, and Reine had a clear view of the vehicles inside.

She already figured out that Max had very refined and expensive tastes, and the silver Porsche, white Mercedes, and two red Ferraris tucked into the pristine space just confirmed it.

A convertible Maserati – unmistakable with its trident logo – was parked on the asphalt, still dripping wet from the spray of the nearby power washer. However, instead of a member of his household staff doing the cleaning, Max emerged from the garage.

Reine took a step backward at his unexpected presence. "What are you doing here?"

"It's my house," he said as he walked over to the side of the car and began to wipe away the water droplets with a yellow rag.

"Of course it is." She cleared her throat. "I meant, I thought you were at work."

"I decided to give myself the morning off."

She crossed her arms. "Why didn't you let me know you were still here?" she asked.

He momentarily looked up from his task. "You were sleeping, and I didn't want to disturb you. I thought you could use the rest. Frankly, you still look . . . tired."

Reine frowned. Max probably just used that brief pause to find a better description for her current state than what must have immediately come to mind: like hell. His attempt at softening the truth was sweet, but the excuse for not telling her about staying was quite weak.

She watched in silence for a few minutes as he alternated between wringing the water out of the cloth and continuing to dry off the car. More for breaking the silence than for expecting a meaningful answer, she gestured toward the vehicles.

"Why do you need all of these?"

He straightened up. "Don't you like them?" he asked back.

"Sure, they're beautiful," she said with a shrug.

His eyes widened. "They're more than just beautiful. These are some of the greatest machines in the world. I mean, driving an average car for a real man is like having his dick cut off."

Reine raised an eyebrow at the metaphor. "I'll have to take your word for that. But you didn't answer my question."

"It's simple," he said as he rubbed his nose. "I have them because I want them."

"So you're saying that you don't really need these things, but since you like them and can afford them–," but he cut her off before she could continue.

"No, not at all. For me, wanting and needing are the same thing. If I want something, then I also need to have it."

She brushed a lock of hair behind her ear. "You sound like a spoiled brat."

"Perhaps." He smiled. "But I'm not hurting anyone with it, so what's the problem?"

"Nothing," she said, shaking her head, not wanting to quibble. "So, what is it you do, anyway? Work-wise, I mean."

He leaned against the car, his tight t-shirt accentuating his muscles. "What do you think I do?"

"Well, from what I saw inside earlier, I'd say immortal Mafia?"

He laughed. "Close, but no. I run a logistics company. Shipping, storage, relocation. That sort of thing."

"For those of us who need to discreetly start our lives over every couple of years?"

"Yes, mostly." He nodded. "But we do have regular clients, too."

He went back to wiping the car, moving over to the glass surfaces. Reine watched him for a while when she remembered something.

"Why did Dodger call you Captain?" she asked.

"It's short for Captain of the Guard. It's an honorary title based on the leadership position I hold in our organization."

She clapped her hands together. "So this IS an immortal Mafia!"

He rolled his eyes and sighed. "Technically, it began as a confraternity, but if you're just going to continue to say childish things we may as well end this conversation."

"All right, all right. Sorry." She took a deep breath. "Please go on."

"There's not much to it really. The gift of immortality is a genetic anomaly: a mutation. From what we've been able to gather, it has been occurring for thousands of years, but perhaps since the beginnings of the human species."

"There are immortals who've lived for more than a thousand years?" Reine interrupted.

"In theory, yes. The oldest still around – at least who I've heard of – is from the Eleventh Century, but it is possible there are those who could be even older still. Anyway, that's not the point. The reason so few survived in the ancient times is because they were alone. They kept to themselves, constantly running and hiding from the mortal world. But that made them even more vulnerable. And that's why our organization was formed: to create a support network for our kind to aid in our survival."

She relished hearing the information and stepped closer. "Who are your members? Are they all over the world?"

"La Confraternita della Risurrezione was started by an old nobleman from Florence in the Fifteenth Century to find immortals like himself on the continent. With European emigration to the Americas and Australia in the subsequent centuries, our group eventually expanded across the globe." He dried off a side mirror before wringing the cloth out.

"The Confraternity, or rather Brotherhood, of the Resurrection," Reine translated.

He smiled. "That is correct. And I look after our little corner of it here on the Eastern seaboard." He dropping the rag into an empty bucket before wiping his hands on his jeans. "With a little help, of course."

"Right. Pretty eclectic bunch you've got here." She motioned toward the residence.

"I guess I'm lucky they're basically stuck here. Otherwise they may have all left a long time ago. I've been told I'm a bit hard to live with." He smiled.

She grinned. "Imagine that. But what do you mean they're stuck here? Why can't they leave?"

"They couldn't survive." Seeing Reine's puzzled expression, he ushered her toward the house before continuing. "Kenzi was living in Nagasaki during the mid-1940s. Needless to say, seeing tens of thousands of people die from the bomb while she didn't have any lasting effects severely traumatized her. She's emotionally too unstable to make it on her own, and Morgan wouldn't dream of leaving her. Mikey's too recognizable because of his birthmark so switching identities isn't as easy for him as it is for the rest of us. And Mal is a true soldier. He's dedicated to our mission too much to want to do anything else."

"And Dodger?" She was fascinated to finally learn some of her housemates' back stories.

Stopping and facing her, Max laughed. "That old coot is an enigma. He's always threatening to leave, that's for sure. But he's yet to follow up on it. So, there they are: amati mio!"

"I never suspected you'd have so much affection for your fellow man." She was fully aware her compliment was back-handed at best, and she expected Max to be offended. However, he apparently wasn't the type to take such things personally because once again, he ignored the jab and began walking again.

"You're referring to my use of amato, correct? You're absolutely right that it's not a word that I'd choose myself. I have no reason other than history – or rather a moment lost in translation – to refer to them as my beloved. Again, it goes back to our founder: Antonio Della Catena. He was always hard of hearing, and it didn't help matters he was already in his eighties when he became immortal. The story goes that soon thereafter, he met an Englishman who didn't speak Italian, while Catena didn't know one word of English. The Englishman somehow knew of Catena's secret and while attempting to communicate with him, he kept using the word immortal. But the Marchese, with his less than stellar ears, thought he was trying to say something in Italian and understood the word to be amato. Thinking that the Englishman knew something he didn't, it was years before the mistake was caught, but by then Catena had spread the usage to his newly assembled confraternity members. From there on out, it became an inside joke and that is why we still call ourselves the Beloved. Truth be told, it was especially useful around mortals who had no idea it was actually code. They just thought – like you a minute ago – that we were all especially fond of each other."

"And the Englishman? Was he an immortal? Did become part of the Confraternity, too?"

He pulled the entry door open. "No, he was already part of the Order of Westminster."

"The Order of Westminster. Sounds a bit ominous," Reine said as she stepped into the hallway.

"It's a similar group which operates solely in the UK. You see, not having gotten anywhere with Catena, the Englishman eventually returned to his home country."

Reine took a few seconds to let the story sink in. All of this was fascinating and she wanted to know more. However, she needed to return to a topic which made her even more curious while Max was in a talkative mood.

"What about Sylvana? What's her story?"

He sighed. "She was here because of me."

"Was?"

"Yes. She has until the weekend to remove her belongings," he said.

"You kicked her out?" she asked, incredulous at his nonchalance.

"It would have been rather awkward to have her stay, don't you think? With you being back in my life now, I mean. We were together for nearly a century and Syl's Eastern European heritage gave her a strong stubborn streak. She's not one to just stand aside quietly, so it's better if she's not around to torture you with her grudge. Anyway, I'd say it's time for lunch. Hungry?"

Although Reine would have loved to hear more, bringing up Sylvana had ended his enthusiasm for storytelling. Her grumbling stomach also couldn't ignore the invitation. "Absolutely." She followed him to the back of the house.

"The kitchen's totally eco-friendly. Custom bamboo cabinets, poured concrete countertops, energy efficient appliances, the works. It cost me over a hundred-grand," Max explained when they entered the room.

"Wow, that's rather pretentious."

"How's that?" he asked, looking over his shoulder.

"Most people live in houses that cost less than your green kitchen."

"Well, most people aren't me." He shrugged. "But you are right. It's rather excessive, isn't it?"

She nodded in agreement, so he continued. "I'm most proud of having gotten rid of all chemical cleaners and detergents from the house. Well, that and this indoor grill." He stood grinning next to a massive stone-front cook top.

She couldn't help, but smile at his enthusiasm. "That is pretty cool."

He opened the stainless steel refrigerator and removed a bag of marinated meat. "How do you like your steak?"

"Medium-well."

"No way!" he exclaimed, shaking his head. "The most I'll do is medium-rare or I might as well throw it out now because it would just be rubbish."

Before Reine could tell him where he could shove his food, the front door opened.

"Anybody home?" Morgan asked from the lobby.

"In the kitchen." Even before Max finished the words, Reine heard light, but rapid footsteps. It didn't take long for their source to materialize, when a small girl of preschool age with long, mahogany curls ran into the room.

"Daddy!" she exclaimed, before running into Max's open arms.