My Bad Boy Werewolf Quadrillionaire Space Lord

As The Darts Settle

That was, to Luca's admittedly high standards, a thoroughly satisfying ending. Even for the wealthiest man in the world, there were many less enjoyable days. One awkward evening with the heiress of the Mortosanto Corporation sprung to mind. She was a little too fond of handcuffs for his tastes.

But the two new people in his life had both surprised and impressed him. The vampire was brilliant with the kids, to the point where they now huddled around him, asking if there was something he had made that they could sign. For a six thousand year old corpse who viewed people the way a fussy foodie looked at a buffet table, Alcuard's respect for the sanctity of childhood impressed Luca profoundly.

Isabela wasn't quite as comfortable with children, but she gave them one of the best battles this arena had ever seen, and took being downed with a great deal of grace. At least Luca believed she took it with grace, because it was hard to judge when she was buried up to her neck in foam darts.

Luca climbed up the plane, and crouched down in front of Isabella's dart pit. Resting on his haunches in front of her, Luca smirked and pulled a foam dart out of her hair. "So, looks like the kids got you back," he said.

"No. They got me back when the darts reached my ankles," Isabella said, her voice cracking in places from emotions she was struggling to restrain. "Disproportionate retribution was about to my knees. The rest was overkill."

Luca grinned. "Kids after my own heart."

"I know, right?" Isabella exclaimed. "I'm so proud of them."

"And they nailed that last chorus," Luca agreed, looking back at the groups of children now chattering in excited whispers. "It's going to get a lot of traction."

"That thing you got the kids to say," Isabella noted, and she raised a hand out from beneath the sea foam. "Aren't you a billionaire?"

Luca frowned in disgust. The last time he had gone to that absurd billionaire circlejerk in Davos, Switzerland, he had worn a hazmat suit the entire time. Ironically, the spectacle had made the whole experience almost enjoyable. "Certainly not. The whole reason I make as much money as I do is so that I don't have to associate with that disgusting lot."

"But you're the poster-child of the excesses of wealth."

"The poster child?" Luca asked.

"We just played a game with flying go karts in a working quidditch arena that fits inside your yacht," Isabella said. "Sister, if you don't relate to billionaires, it's for the same reason billionaires don't relate to the rest of us."

"Fair point. But unlike that skeezy cabal of scum, Cardego Corp has a standing policy of paying the base corporate tax rate in any country we do business. Do you know how many lobbyists I employ?" Luca asked.

Isabella shrugged, and in the microgravity of the moon's orbit her cleavage bounced delightfully.

"Huh, real boobs," Luca reflected aloud. Isabella frowned at him while she turned her torso to settle her assets. Luca smiled, held out his hands placatingly, and said, "No, no, darling, that was a compliment. You see, the higher you rise in society, the less you see breasts that haven't had at least some kind of artificial 'enhancement'."

"It helps that you used air quotes for 'enhancement'," Isabella said.

"I'm completely serious. A boob job is like skimping on a gift just to make the box it comes in prettier. The worst part is that I occasionally spend charity balls trying to figure out which plastic surgeon is making the most money these days," Luca explained, and without being fully aware of it, his mind and his hands began comparing the curvature certain surgeons were most likely to try for.