by Lila Dubois
Karl was only half-listening. He’d turned the page and was now reading about Ciril’s childhood and teen years.
“I must go. I’m sorry I can’t do more.” Martino reached for the file.
Karl pulled it back. “Who is looking into this?” He flipped the file around so everyone could see. It was a photocopied article about a religious cult, and on the next page a list of cult members, with Ciril’s name highlighted.
“He grew up in a cult?” Leila asked.
Martino shook his head. “A dead end. In Serbia and Moldova, any religion that isn’t Orthodox Serbian Christian or Muslim is often considered a cult or a sect.”
Karl frowned. “You investigated?”
“The knights from Hungary did. Nothing there. Now they’re trying to find anyone who knew him in prison. Maybe a guard.” Martino held out his hand, and Karl reluctantly handed the file over. “We suspect someone he knew in prison is either hiding him or owns the bolt-hole where he’s hiding. His longest stay was after the murder, but he was in and out of prison before then, so there are many possibilities.”
Martino placed the file against his flat stomach and zipped the jacket closed. He looked at Karl and Leila. “I wish we had more, but please do not fear. He can’t come out of hiding, not with the pressure we have on him and the surveillance we have in place. It’s only a matter of time.”
Karl nodded, as did Leila, but nothing about what they’d just learned made Karl feel hopeful or safe.
Antonio stood at the door outside Leila’s bedroom, hesitating to knock. He’d asked her and Karl to join him for dinner…somewhere away from Villa Degli Dei. Being here was draining, exhausting. He was trying to be what Leila and Karl needed. Solid strength, support, calmness.
When he was in his father’s home, he felt none of those things. He felt like a soldier being assessed by his commander, or a prize animal being trotted out and displayed—look how dangerous, how deadly this creature is.
Or worse, the small boy who longed for affection and approval. A lifetime in this house had taught him to be on guard. Constantly.
Before he could lift his hand and rap his knuckles against the wood, Leila opened the door. There was a brief moment of shock before she gave him a small smile.
“Have you been standing there long?”
He didn’t know how to reply to that.
No, he didn’t want to.
She let him off easy. “You have a habit of hanging around outside my door.”
He acknowledged her joke with a short nod. “Are you ready to go?”
“Yes.” She stepped out of the room. “I’m ready.”
Antonio sucked in a deep breath, trying to conceal his reaction to her. Given her lacking wardrobe, he’d suggested she borrow something from his sister’s closet. He had judged them to be of similar sizes—though Sophia was taller—and he’d been correct.
She was dressed in a deceptively simple pale-blue gown. It had a boat neckline and long sleeves that should have made it seem modest, but instead highlighted her naked and delicate shoulders and collarbones. The dress hugged her body, but not in the cheap way of modern stretchy fabric. It fit her as if tailored to her, emphasizing breasts and hips. With each step she took, the fabric—most likely satin or heavy silk, caught the light with a silvery-blue shimmer.
He would call Sophia and ask for the dress. It should belong to Leila.
Antonio placed his hand on her elbow as they descended the staircase. As they reached the last step, Karl let loose with a low whistle.
Amused, Antonio was envious of Karl’s easygoing, thoughtful nature. He suspected that, prior to his capture, Karl had been completely unguarded, natural, easy with himself and those around him.
He wondered what it must feel like to be able to wear your heart on your sleeve. A lifetime spent being molded into the shape his father wanted had forced Antonio to surround himself in armor. Even with Karl and Leila, to whom he’d become incredibly close, he found it difficult to reveal the man he was deep inside.
“You look beautiful, Leila,” Karl said, leaning forward to place a soft kiss on her cheek. Leila flushed slightly with obvious delight.
Antonio had been with her long enough to know that color in her cheeks was certainly unique. She was a woman who was comfortable in her own skin, powerful, unabashed, unafraid to reach out to grab what she wanted…what she needed.
Her reaction to Karl felt unique. Almost schoolgirl-like.
He also knew Leila wouldn’t appreciate the comparison.
“So where are we going?” she asked.
“You’ll see.” He was being deliberately secretive, something that appeared to take his companions off guard.
“Are you planning a surprise?” Leila asked.
Antonio didn’t respond. He merely led them to the door. His car was still parked out front.
He opened the passenger door for Leila, while Karl climbed into the backseat. He would have liked to take one of his supercars, or maybe even one of the few ultra-cars he had, but none of them had seating for three.
Antonio closed the car door, then walked around the back of the vehicle, his mind whirling over the evening to come…and his feelings about it.
It felt as if he were taking Leila—and Karl—out on a date. When he’d issued the invitation, his primary objective had been to get them the hell out of his father’s house.
He’d spent the better part of last night thinking about the weeks they’d spent in Venice. Despite the fact Leila and Karl had been recuperating from serious physical and emotional trauma—not to mention he’d spent every moment on guard, lest Ciril attack—he’d felt more at ease there than he’d ever felt in his childhood home.
He climbed into the driver’s seat and started the car.
“You really aren’t going to tell us where we’re going?” Leila pressed.
He shook his head.
She sighed. “I’m not good with surprises.”
Karl leaned back and raised his hands behind his head as he claimed a fair part of the backseat. “I love them.”
Antonio spotted the wariness on Leila’s face and kicked himself for playing the game. Given what she’d just gone through, it made sense that she’d want to know exactly what was coming, where they were going. She’d lost control, her survival stripped from her as she was held victim by a cruel, evil man.
“We’re going to a restaurant on the coast. In Terracina. The food is wonderful. I know the owner very well. He’s aware of our need for the utmost security. Precautions have been taken. It will be safe.”
Leila smiled. “You think of everything. I’m sorry for…” she whispered. “It’s just…I’m not…”
He reached across the console and took her hand. “I understand, Leila.”
The car fell silent for several painful minutes as Antonio considered just how much Leila and Karl had lost at the hands of Ciril.
“This countryside is really beautiful,” Karl mused from the back, finding—in his typical way—the secret to setting all their minds at ease.
“I’ve always loved Italy,” Leila confessed. “It’s such a romantic country.”
“Now we see where Antonio gets his silver tongue,” Karl joked.
Leila winked at Antonio, who laughed quietly, perfectly aware that flowery words and poetry were beyond him.
After that, the conversation flowed naturally and easily as Antonio noted various points of interest and shared small stories about the people, the area, his family. Typically, he didn’t talk this much.
Karl asked countless questions about the landscape; his background as an archaeologist meant he was keen to know specifics about how the topography correlated with the rich and long history of human habitation in the area.
A peaceful silence descended. They were good at this, simply being together.
They were good together.
And soon they would part.
Antonio wished that thought didn’t hurt so much.
; Chapter Eleven
When they pulled up to the restaurant, Antonio was pleased to see two guards in position near the entrance. They were in street clothes, talking casually. There was nothing about them to draw attention to their presence there, or the weapons they had concealed beneath their leather jackets. Given that all the cavalieri were stretched thin, he’d had to order a security detail from Cohortes Praetorianae. His fellow security officers couldn’t be spared for guard duty, but everyone on the team was both capable and deadly.
Some people who worked for the company were members of the Masters’ Admiralty, but not security officers. Some were totally unaware that Cohortes Praetorianae was a front for the most dangerous branch of an ancient secret society.
He opened Leila’s door for her, placing his arm around her waist, the need to keep her close while they were outside and exposed prompting the action. Karl moved to her other side, claiming her hand. Antonio would have preferred to have Karl closer, but he didn’t want to lessen Karl’s own need to reassert some control over his life, to reclaim some of the confidence he’d lost.
Like him, Karl and Leila were walking fast, their eyes scanning the surroundings, alert, ready. The two guards shifted as they entered, moving closer to the front entrance. One of the guards would remain there, keeping watch, as the other circled the perimeter of the building. Another guard should already be in position at the back entrance, the fourth inside.
Antonio nodded covertly to Andrea, one of Cohortes Praetorianae’s top people and a member of the Masters’ Admiralty, as they entered the restaurant.
“I Peccati di Giove?” Karl said, reading the name on the sign aloud in flawless Italian. He’d been practicing.
Antonio nodded to the maître d’. “The owner is a member. He is well-known in Rome. Serves as an advisor to my father. I called ahead and informed him of the need for absolute security. You will be safe here.” He’d assured them of that in the car, but he wanted to repeat it…as much for him as for them.
He’d been desperate to escape his father’s estate, and he knew getting out would be good for them emotionally. However, from a purely security standpoint, bringing Karl and Leila out in public—with Ciril still on the loose—was a bad idea.
They should have stayed in Venice.
The maître d’ recognized him from his previous visits, bowing slightly at the waist. “Monsieur Starabba. It is a delight to have you and your companions with us tonight. If you will follow me, I will show you to your private dining room.”
He saw Karl and Leila exchange a glance. Antonio had grown up surrounded by wealth, but it hadn’t blinded him to the uniqueness of his situation, nor did he fail to appreciate that there were others in the world with much, much less.
That truth was driven home when Leila’s eyes widened as they entered the private dining room. The table was covered with a long white tablecloth; white and blush-pink roses adorned the center of the table in a variety of cut glass and crystal vases and bowls, ranging from a single bud vase with a barely open rose-gold bloom to a massive glass amphora that caught the light, refracting it a thousand times. Amid the blooms were silver candlesticks and stands set with tapers, fat white pillars, and tea lights.
One wall had a narrow wood-framed glass viewing panel, through which they could see into the restaurant’s impressive wine cellar. The other walls boasted large pieces of bold modern art that should have been at odds with the classic elegance of the table scape, but instead blended perfectly, giving the room an air of expensive welcome.
The maître d’ pulled Leila’s chair out for her as Karl took his seat. Antonio scanned the room, relieved by the lack of windows—something the other dining rooms had in abundance. There was one entrance to the room, and he released a breath of relief when he spotted the fourth guard take his position just outside. The glass that allowed them to see into the wine room was double thickness and tempered—hard to break—and too narrow of an opening for someone to come through anyway, assuming they managed to get through the bank-vault style door that allowed the sommelier—and only the sommelier—into the cellar.
His father would have scolded him for bringing in so many other guards. He would tell Antonio it looked weak. Looked like he, Antonio, didn’t think he could handle an attack single-handedly.
Just because he probably could, didn’t mean he should.
With luck, Giovanni would never find out about tonight.
Antonio snorted a short breath through his nose. There was no chance of that. Giovanni Starabba knew everything that happened in his territory. If Antonio hadn’t been in his father’s office countless times in the past, he might have thought the man had video surveillance set up to cover every inch of Italy and beyond. Father would find out…if he didn’t already know. And he would question Antonio about it.
As he looked at his dining companions, Antonio decided he didn’t care. Tonight would be worth the inquisition.
Antonio joined them at the table as the sommelier arrived. He ordered a bottle of Chateau Margaux Bordeaux. He knew it was considered an expensive bottle, but he’d never really paid attention to things like that. What he cared about more was that it was delicious and decadent. After everything they’d suffered, he wanted to give Karl and Leila an enjoyable, relaxing night out.
The sommelier complimented him on his selection and went to retrieve the wine, leaving them alone in the dining room.
“I can’t believe you went to so much trouble.” Leila was still surveying their surroundings. “It’s so elegant here, so beautiful.”
Antonio reached for her hand, squeezing it gently. “You belong here.”
She smiled, even as she shook her head. “No. I can assure you. I don’t.”
“Why do you say that?” Antonio asked.
Karl looked at her, his gaze focused behind his glasses. Moments like this, it was easy to see the razor-sharp intellect behind his otherwise calm demeanor. “Tell us about your family. You told me you weren’t a legacy.”
Antonio got a sense Leila wasn’t entirely comfortable with Karl’s request. “No. I’m not.”
“So what brought you to the Masters’ Admiralty?” Antonio asked, suddenly very curious about what would make a woman like Leila agree to a trinity marriage…and to shoot people in exchange for the power and privileges associated with membership.
She sighed, glancing around the room once more. “I was raised by my father. He was a sotilasmestari…a,” she searched for the word before adding, “sergeant major in the Finnish Defense Force.”
“And your mother?” Karl asked.
“She and my father were together one night. I can only assume it took the shape of a soldier home on leave. Nine months later, she appeared on his doorstep with me in her arms. She handed me off and…” Leila shrugged. “That was that.”
Antonio sensed she was trying to make light of something that still hurt her. “She walked away?”
While her face was composed, her eyes were sad. “Not every woman was made to be a mother. I’ve never met her, and my father wouldn’t even tell me her name.”
“You never asked?” Karl took a sip from his water glass.
“I did. My father was a very private man. He simply said that information wasn’t necessary. Everything to him was a mission, and the recruits were only given the details pertinent to their part of the action. By the way, I was the recruit in that scenario,” she joked.
Antonio wondered if her sudden self-deprecating, slightly sarcastic sense of humor was something that had rubbed off from Karl.
Karl acknowledged the joke with a quiet chuckle, saying, “Thanks for the clarification.”
Antonio was still holding her hand, but at that point, Karl reached out to take the other, his face sobering, despite her obvious desire to keep things light.
“I’m sorry about your mother, Leila,” Karl said. “Perhaps it’s time to revisit the question. Ask it again.”
She shook her head. “It is difficult to miss
something you never had. I was raised by my isoäiti.”
At Antonio’s inquisitive look, she translated. “Grandmother. When my father was home, however, I was with him. I truly didn’t mean to make it sound as if he was cold or indifferent. That wasn’t the case. He was, for ease of explanation, exactly what you might imagine of a career military man. Strict, exacting, high expectations. A perfectionist, who demanded that not only of the people around him, but of himself as well.”
Her genuine, wistful smile set Antonio’s mind at ease. Leila had been raised in love. That much was evident.
“A military man, hmm,” Karl said with a grin. “Sounds like you went into the family business.”
She laughed lightly. “I think it’s safe to say he definitely guided my career path. He bought me my first gun when I was ten, taking me to the shooting range weekly. I was a black belt in Krav Maga by the time I was twelve. And then…”
Her words drifted away.
“Then?” Karl prompted gently.
“My grandmother died when I was fifteen. Isä—I mean, Father…” Leila paused and shook her head, forcing herself to think before speaking. Leila was fluent in English and French, but when sharing stories of her childhood and family, her Finnish kept slipping out.
“We figured out who Isä was,” Karl said. “Don’t worry about that.”
She nodded in thanks. “Isä didn’t know what to do with me. He sent me away to a boarding school in Sweden.”
“Why Sweden?” Karl asked.
She shrugged. “My father understood the military, understood strategy, weapons, command. A fifteen-year-old girl in the throes of puberty was more than he could handle. I only know some well-meaning colleague told him about the school and he thought it was a good option for me.”
“It wasn’t.” Antonio hadn’t framed his statement as a question, but she answered it as such.
“No. I was miserable, constantly begging him to allow me to remain with him. With the collapse of the Soviet Union in the nineties, the tenor of the Finnish military adapted from a total territorial defense, to that of strategically protecting vital and vulnerable regions. My father was instrumental in seeing to some of those changes, and he was afraid I would be a distraction.”