“No.” She shifted her weight awkwardly.
His eyes moved to hers again. “You smell fantastic. Like roses.”
“It’s Jo Malone soap. My sister sends it to me.”
Bruno closed his eyes and inhaled. “It’s tremendous.”
“How’s your grandmother? I haven’t seen her for a while.”
He opened his eyes. “She hasn’t been feeling well. She’s been spending her days in bed and not eating. My mother is with her.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. She’s always been so kind to me. When I first moved into the apartment, she took pity on me and taught me how to cook. If there’s anything I can do, let me know.”
“Thank you.” Bruno gave her a warm look. “What would you say to a drink over at the Gucci Museum before dinner?”
“I’d like that.”
He took her hand in his and they walked across the Piazza Signoria to the Gucci Museum, which boasted an open-air bar under umbrellas. They sat on comfortable banquettes and enjoyed their Prosecco, while Raven told Bruno about her work in the restoration lab.
If Bruno continued to feel disappointed by her appearance, he kept the fact well hidden.
Yet, Raven was uneasy. His lack of regard for her previously, and the way the smile had slipped from his face when she approached, distressed her.
Of course, his reactions held far more weight since she’d admired him from afar, knowing she could never have him. To have caught his attention only to lose it would be painful. Raven subtly began to steel herself against that possibility.
Conversation between the two flowed easily and so it was hours later that they strolled the short distance to Gallery Hotel Art. Its restaurant, Fusion, served the best sushi in the city.
Although Raven had walked by the hotel on many occasions, she’d never been inside. Anticipation made her eager.
That was why she forgot that the building they were entering was the one in which Professor Emerson had sensed what he thought was a ghost.
Over dinner, Bruno was charming and attentive. He didn’t bore her with stories about his work—he was a banker—with Monte dei Paschi di Siena. Nor did he focus on the familiar topic of his grandmother, although he admitted she’d been trying to match them up ever since Raven moved into the building.
No, the conversation focused primarily on Raven.
Bruno asked questions and listened to the answers. He laughed when she said something funny and was gently sympathetic when she said something sad. They ordered several plates of food and shared them, while he chose a very expensive bottle of Brunello di Montalcino as an accompaniment.
In short, it was the best date Raven had ever had. But it was also the worst.
Bruno didn’t ask if she wanted to see his apartment or if she wanted him to take her home and spend the night. Instead, he offered to walk with her downtown before he escorted her home.
It was a first date. Raven probably would not have spent the night with him. Even so, she took his lack of initiative as an indictment of her physical appearance.
He held her hand loosely as they wandered the city streets after dinner.
Raven meditated on how handsome and gentlemanly he was. She did not think about the slight twinges in her leg and ankle. She did not think about her temporary demotion at the Uffizi, or of the strange discovery she’d made about Primavera, or about ferals, mysterious intruders, or the relic that had sunk to the bottom of her knapsack.
They admired the way the Duomo was illuminated against the night sky and sat with the tourists on the front steps. They talked about the approaching summer and the special events the city planned.
When it was almost midnight, Bruno suggested he walk her home. As they entered a deserted alley, he took her knapsack from her shoulder and placed it on the ground at their feet. Then he spun her in a circle, over and over, as if they were dancing. At the other end of the alley, he pulled her into his arms.
He whispered a few words about how he’d enjoyed her company.
She responded in kind.
Bruno smiled, his eyes darting to her lips.
He leaned forward.
Raven closed her eyes.
She felt his nose brush hers. He murmured something about how her mouth was tempting.
A low chuckle sounded nearby.
Bruno retreated, looking at the opening of the alley. When he saw a large, oddly dressed man standing nearby, he placed Raven behind him.
“It isn’t her mouth that tempts me.” The man, who was bearlike, with long hair and a full beard, closed his eyes and sniffed.
His eyes fixed on Raven’s. “Who are your masters?”
“Come on.” Bruno took her hand and quickly led her away from the man and toward her knapsack, being sure to shield her from view with his body.
No sooner had he done so than the man seemed to fly over their heads and land in front of Raven, blocking their path.
Raven glanced at the knapsack, realizing he’d cut her off from it.
Her eyes met his.
“Oh, did you want what’s in that bag?” He jerked his thumb over his
shoulder. “Then come and get it.”
When Bruno tried to pull her away, the man came a step closer.
“I asked a question.” He glared at Raven, his voice a low rumble. “You have three bloods in you. Name your masters.”
“I don’t have a master.”
He smiled, exposing yellowed, jagged teeth. “That’s what I thought. No one would be mad enough to master you and allow you to have a talisman.”
As soon as the words left his lips, he leapt forward.
Bruno saw him move and pushed Raven out of the way.
She toppled over and fell on her bottom.
The man grabbed Bruno by his suit jacket and hurled him through the air. A sickening sound filled the alley as he made contact with the stone wall and slid down. Blood began to pour from a wound on the side of his head.
Forgetting the relic entirely, Raven ran to him. “Bruno, get up.”
She snaked her arm around his waist and managed to pull him to his feet.
He was unsteady and slumped against her. Blood smeared the thin strap of her sundress and the skin of her shoulder.
The man took two long steps toward them and grabbed Bruno again, shoving him against the wall. This time Bruno fell and lay unmoving.
“I’m going to get help.” Raven wasn’t sure Bruno could hear her.
She tried to run in the direction of her knapsack, but once again the man blocked her. She turned quickly and fled in the opposite direction.
She’d taken only three steps when he got hold of her arm and wrenched her backward. She felt as if her arm was being pulled out of its socket and howled in pain.
“Now you’re mine.” The man spun her around. “I’m hungry.”
Raven reached out her uninjured arm and began pushing against his chest, trying to get free.
“You seem incapable of following the rules these days, Max. Are you really hunting someone else’s pet?”
Raven turned and saw a beautiful red-haired woman standing nearby, maintaining her distance from the knapsack.
Her appearance must have surprised the man because he released Raven’s arm.
She stumbled, trying to put distance between them. When she regained her balance, she began running as fast as she could, away from the man and woman.
“Don’t interfere!” Max snarled at the redhead.
She stood in front of him.
“As a Consilium member, I’m bound to enforce the laws. As are you. I kept your secret about what happened at Teatro. I’ll be damned if I keep this one.”
Max grabbed at the woman, but she was too fast. She caught hold of the side of one of the buildings and began climbing until she was out of sight.
With a curse, Max ran after his prey.
It wasn’t much but the short delay gave Raven a few precious seconds to disappear into another alley, eluding her pursu
er. She ran toward the Duomo, ignoring the shooting pain in her leg and ankle.
The sounds of growls and heavy footfalls filled her ears, as the large man approached with great speed.
She slipped into a dark corner by the side entrance to the Duomo. Hiding in the darkness, she glanced around.
The man had stopped a few feet away. He was glaring in her direction. Somehow, the shadows did not shield her from view.
She saw movement in the distance. The red-haired woman descended from one of the buildings behind him, dropping almost elegantly to the ground.
Raven stared, mesmerized by the couple’s strength and appearance. She felt as if she’d seen them before, perhaps in a dream.
“Come away from there, you bitch!” the man bellowed.
Raven pressed herself into a corner, trying to fade out of sight. But still, the couple continued to stare in her direction.
“Oh, this is delightful. You’ve lost her now, Max.” The red-haired woman clapped. She lifted her hand as if saluting Raven and addressed her. “Your masters, whoever they are, taught you well. Although I’m wondering why they let you near a talisman. What say you, Max? Has she been a naughty little pet?”
Raven’s courage was bolstered by what she believed was their repeated reference to the relic, but she was confused by the mention of masters. A cold finger of fear traced the length of her spine. She wondered if the couple were connected with a human trafficking ring. She wondered if she resembled someone they kept as a slave.
Raven scanned the area for pedestrians, hoping she could find someone to help her.
No one came. She wasn’t visible to those congregated at the front of the Duomo. She didn’t even have her cell phone, which was still in her knapsack.
“Tell your masters this rogue is called Maximilian. They’ll know how to deal with him.” The woman laughed again.
Without turning around, Max lifted his bearlike paw and swung in the direction of the woman’s head.
She ducked.
While bent double, she struck him with her fist, plowing it into his kidneys.
“You’re lucky her masters aren’t about, Max. She’s owned by two old ones; I can smell their age from here.”
Max bellowed in anger and moved toward the woman, as if he were going to tackle her.
At that moment, sirens sounded in the distance.
The man cursed Raven and spat before fleeing to a nearby building. He scaled it quickly, moving to the roof and out of sight.
The woman lifted her skirts and ran around to the back of the Duomo, disappearing from view.
Raven leaned back against the exterior wall of the Duomo, breathing a sigh of relief. The sirens offered hope that help was on its way.
She hoped Bruno was still alive. She exited the shadows and made her way toward the alley.
Suddenly a large Triumph motorcycle approached from the front of the Duomo, skidding to a stop in a wide arc and cutting her off.
“Get on!” the driver shouted to her, in Italian.
Chapter Twenty
The motorcyclist was wearing a black leather jacket, black jeans, and black boots. His helmet, which had an opaque shield, was also black.
Raven wondered if he were a policeman, assigned to follow her.
She didn’t bother to find out. Breaking into a run, she skirted him in order to return to Bruno.
“We have to go. Now!” the driver shouted.
Raven increased her speed, fighting the pain in her leg, as she heard sirens approach.
When she came to the alley, she saw Bruno lying on the ground. She could see blood on his face and a dark pool on the cobblestones beneath his head. He wasn’t moving.
A police car turned into the alley several feet away, followed closely by an ambulance.
She was going to run to him, when an arm curled around her waist and pulled her back. The motorcyclist clutched her to his side, kicking and screaming, as he pulled away.
The driver was strong, but even so, it was nearly impossible to drive with one hand and hold a squirming woman with the other. He came to a halt near the Duomo.
“If you’re caught by the police, they’ll arrest you,” he hissed behind his helmet. “Is that what you want?”
“I didn’t do anything! A man attacked us.”
“They won’t believe you. And the boy’s blood is on your clothes.” The motorcyclist pointed to her dress.
“I have to help him.” She struggled. “I have to get my knapsack.”
He gripped her arms, his gloved fingers biting into her flesh.
“Jane, get on the bike.”
At the sound of her former name, she stilled. She couldn’t see his face from behind his helmet. Since his voice was muffled, she couldn’t swear that he was the intruder.
But a policeman wouldn’t want her to evade his fellow officers and, certainly, no one she knew ever called her Jane.
Before she could respond, the driver pressed a helmet over her head and tugged her to sit behind him. He pulled at her arms, but she resisted, favoring her right shoulder.
“Are you injured?” He turned in his seat to examine her.
“The man who attacked us wrenched my arm.” Raven massaged her shoulder, eyes screwed shut in pain.
“I’ll fix it after you’re safe.”
“Are you the intruder from my apartment?”
“Of course,” he snapped. “Who else would help you?”
“Let me go. I have to help my friend.”
“You can’t help him from a jail cell.”
Instantly, Raven thought of Amanda Knox.
She knew she would come to regret her decision, but, with a deep breath, she wrapped her arms around the intruder’s waist.
“Hold on,” he commanded.
The bike shot forward, almost toppling as it approached the Duomo and made a hard left to go around it.
The sound of a siren pierced the air as another police car, which was parked on a street nearby, began to pursue them.
Raven shut her eyes as the motorcycle wove in and around traffic, shooting through red lights and barely avoiding pedestrians.
Still the police car followed, now joined by a second one.
With a burst of speed, the motorcycle crossed one of the large vehicular bridges that spanned the Arno before darting up the winding road that led to the Piazzale Michelangelo. Trees and houses flew past them as they raced around the curves.
Raven felt sick, but the driver would not slow.
They raced past the piazzale and around a tight curve, losing the police cars for a moment. The motorcyclist shot into a hidden driveway and climbed another hill, putting them out of sight.
The sounds of sirens grew close and then far away, as the police cars sped past the driveway and continued along the main road.
Raven tried very hard not to throw up, swallowing down urge after urge to heave.
The driver slowed the motorcycle to a moderately quick speed, making several turns before stopping in front of a tall metal gate. He pushed a few buttons and the gate opened.
He entered the gate, which closed behind them, and drove along a paved driveway that led past trees and what appeared to be an orchard.
They came to a stop in front of a freestanding triple-bay garage.
Raven was clutching the driver so tightly, she couldn’t let go. He had to pry her fingers from his jacket.
“Inside. Now.” He jerked his head toward the large and palatial villa visible via the floodlights that illuminated the garden and driveway. “Ambrogio will attend to you.”
The driver helped Raven from the motorcycle and removed her helmet.
“Her right arm and shoulder are injured. See to it.” He addressed a man who hovered nearby.
The motorcyclist turned his back on her and rolled his machine into the garage.
“Signorina, please.” The man, who Raven inferred was Ambrogio, gestured toward a stone path that led through the garden and to the back door.
/> Raven took one tentative step and threw up the entire contents of her dinner on Ambrogio’s impeccably shined shoes and suit-clad legs.
Chapter Twenty-one
Ambrogio said not a word as Raven’s vomit splashed on his legs and feet. He merely placed an arm around her waist, supporting her.
She heaved until she could do so no more.
“I’m sorry,” she rasped, wiping her mouth shakily with the back of her hand.
“Signorina, come inside.” His tone was calm, too calm, as if the sight of blood on her skin and the vomit was not only unsurprising, but expected.
Raven gazed at him curiously.
He was about her height, with gray hair and dark eyes. He looked as if he were in his sixties and was carefully dressed in a well-cut dark suit. Raven found something troubling about his demeanor, but she could not articulate what.
She tore her eyes from his impassive expression and looked toward the garage. “My friend Bruno is hurt. He may be dead. I have to go to him.”
“Everything will be attended to.” Ambrogio deftly turned her to face the villa.
“I don’t have my cell phone. Or my wallet. My knapsack is in the alley, where Bruno is.”
“This way, please.”
Raven turned toward the garage, hoping to catch sight of the intruder. “But—”
“It would be best if you came into the house.” Ambrogio interrupted her with a tone that held a warning.
With one last, vain glance, Raven allowed herself to be led on shaky legs to the back door.
She was escorted through a modern, eat-in kitchen and a large, opulent dining room to an immense central foyer. A wide wooden staircase led to the second floor, while a huge antique chandelier sparkled overhead.
But it was the artwork that captured her attention.
The walls were painted a deep red and hung with oil paintings that varied in size and composition, all encased in glass.
Raven gaped at the sight and muttered a few stunned oaths.
She’d spent years studying Renaissance art and art restoration. The collection on display was of works from that period she had never seen. Paintings by Raphael, Botticelli, Caravaggio—and something that looked surprisingly like a Michelangelo—stared at her from their ornate frames.