You have your secrets, I have mine.

What’s your favorite food? Seriously. Imagine your favorite food right now. Let’s say it’s . . . I don’t know . . . Biscuits. Now say you walk into your regular high school cafeteria. The one that can fit about 7 billion little hungry students. Let’s say every chair is filled with hot, steamy, fresh-out-of-the-oven biscuits that make the whole school smell like it’s dinner time.
That just about sums up my existence.

I’m a 18-year-old, Italian vampire . . . 81-year-old vampire actually. I was born on December 3, 1920, and died December 2, 1938: One day before I turned 18. I was planning on joining the marines, but my house was shot up that night. My dad was part of the Mafia, as I found out later, and he had stolen some money from a robbery a week ago. Now you might be wondering how I found out about this after I was shot up to pieces.
My dad’s partner, Miguel Tornio, just so happened to be a part of the new segment of the Mafia: A group not so well known.
A group consisting entirely of the undead.
They needed someone who could get into all the little crevices of New York without drawing attention to themselves. So . . . Very originally . . . They faked my death and carted me of to become a vampire. I would love to protest that I’m not dangerous, but it’s not true.
I have killed 157 men, 44 women, and 3 children up to today. I’m not proud of it.

I met Wven a couple weeks ago when she ran into me hunting. Once I got my thirst under control and realized I couldn’t actually drink her blood (because she’s dead, if you haven’t noticed), we’ve been inseparable.
Then we both discovered a club for people like me and her. Vamps, werewolves, mermaids, unicorns (no joke), etc. A safe haven. It was held every Tuesday in an abandoned warehouse down the block from my apartment where I live with my two best friends, Tyler Dryden (Fey . . . She’s a girl) and Mac Canella (ghost). They’ve only put up with me for so long because Fey blood is insanely deadly to vampires and Mac’s dead, so I can’t hurt him any more.
Oh, and by the way, I can run super fast, can lift up to 6 times my own weight (195 pounds of solid muscle, so that’s . . . 1,170 pounds? I was never good at math), can vaporize into thin air, and drink a whole person’s life supply of blood in one sitting. Impressive, right?

“Yo, Gabe!” Tyler called out as I appeared in the middle of our living room. “A little warning next time?” I smiled and kissed her softly (I forgot to mention Ty’s my girlfriend) as she grinned a and t me. “I could’ve had my shirt off.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing.” I laughed, popping open a can of Dr. Pepper. You know that dumb myth that says vampires can’t eat? Well it’s not true. DON’T listen to Twilight it messes with EVERYHTING. It does have one thing right though: Vampire’s eyes change color with their moods. When I’m angry or feeling dangerous, my pupils turn black. When I’m starving out of my wits they’re purple and when I’m neither they’re electric blue.

“Meeting’s about to start.” Mac yawned as he entered the room. “We’re gonna be late, and you know what they do to people who show up late . . .” He rubbed the back of his neck and held out his hand to me. “Pwease?” He pouted. Ty put out her hand too, and I took hers first. Then Mac solidified just enough for me to grab him and vaporize both of them to the warehouse.