The Immortal Greek

by Monica La Porta

  Partygoers were standing by the entry, mulling over what had happened in that house, judging by the comments she heard while passing. A few vampires were leaving. One recognized her and said hi, but she barely acknowledged him. The main door was ajar, and the sounds of hushed voices filled the night. Once she entered the foyer, an older gentleman with a majordomo’s livery met her.

  “Ravenna Del Sarto.” She handed her business card to the elegant man.

  He raised one gloved hand and accepted it with a nod of his white head. “Miss Del Sarto, we were expecting you. We hope your coming at this early hour hasn’t inconvenienced you more than necessary. May I offer you anything?”

  She smiled at him, knowing it was his job to be impeccably polite, but she was tired and not in the mood for pleasantries. Also, missing her flight to Singapore for what was her first vacation in years was more than an inconvenience. “I’m fine, thank you. Could you escort me to the body?”

  The majordomo bowed his head and opened his arm to the right, showing her a corridor. “Please, this way.”

  Ravenna automatically checked her appearance on the gilded mirrors hanging on the walls at regular intervals. She looked professional enough given the hour. Everywhere she looked the place was filled with people, and she was appalled by the women’s apparel. Youngsters and mature paranormals alike wore couture she would have associated with the oldest profession in the world. She straightened her back and moved her hair behind her shoulders by tipping her head left and right.

  The majordomo led her through the whole first floor of the villa, and she noticed the vampires now leaving in throngs. She suspected it wasn’t just the incipient dawn scaring them away, but her own presence. Although both the Immortal Council and the Peace Pact had several enforcers at their beck and call, Ravenna was known as the Enforcer with a capital E. She liked it. She had worked hard to be taken seriously in a society where men still held positions of power over the women and was ready to fight for it.

  “To the gardens.” The majordomo held the French doors opened for her, then resumed his slow walk among topiary lanes, green alcoves, and olive trees.

  Lots of olive trees. Ravenna particularly liked olive trees. They reminded her of her parents’ Tuscan country house. She had known Drako owned one of the most coveted lots in the Coppedè neighborhood, but she hadn’t realized he had enough space for an Italian garden, what looked like a small amphitheater, and an infinity pool where the party seemed to be still in full swing judging by the crowd.

  The majordomo pointed ahead toward the illuminated pool. “Master Alexander is there.”

  Ravenna’s legs felt like lead. She hadn’t expected the playboy to stay behind and wait for her. She had taken for granted he was busy partying with his guests, maybe even in another location. Meanwhile, she had fallen behind and the majordomo was announcing her to his employer, who sat on the tiled floor by a covered form.

  Alexander Drako raised his head and looked at her, recognition playing in his green eyes. He said something to his majordomo, then stood on his legs in a slow but gracious movement, and walked toward her. “Miss Del Sarto, I’m glad they sent you.” He extended his right hand for her to shake. The playboy wore an open, tieless, light-gray shirt under his black suit jacket.

  His hand was warm when she took it, and she was taken aback by both his seriousness, so at odds with his public image, and his statement. She remembered she had been imparted the best education money could buy and shook his proffered hand. “Mister Drako.”

  “The boy—” Drako gestured toward the still shape on the floor. “I don’t know how this has come to happen in my house—” He passed his suntanned hand over his blond curls.

  “I’m deeply sorry this has ruined your big night, Mister Drako.” She moved around a suddenly stiff Drako and headed toward the corpse. She was about to bend to raise the linen covering the dead, but he preceded her.

  “Let me.” He crouched and unveiled the body for her.

  She stared at Drako a moment too long before lowering her eyes to the boy.

  “He was so young.” She heard Drako say while her mind played a trick on her. She went back in time. Before her eyes, Tommaso, her beloved younger brother, lying dead on a floor. Tommaso too had looked peaceful in death. She blinked and was back to the present.

  “Is everything all right?” Her worried host looked at her with a puzzled look on his freckled face. “I know it must be late for you and—”

  She blinked again to focus back on the corpse. “Nothing to worry about, Mister Dr—”

  His lips turned up in a small smile. “Alexander, please.”

  “I’m here to investigate a suspicious death. Mister Drako.” She gave him her best frost stare.

  He raised his hands in the air, then hugged himself and let her work. She would have preferred for him to leave her alone, but it was his house after all, and he was being a gracious host so far, so she tried to ignore him. She looked around and saw a marble table a few steps to the left. She laid her briefcase on it and opened it to retrieve her recorder and her gloves. After turning on her recorder, she began taking notes about the condition of the body.

  “The victim is an immortal. A youngster. His facial traits date his change around the seventeen hundreds. His fair complexion and height make him Eastern European. Possibly Czech.” She crouched lower, balancing herself on her heels, and uncovered the rest of the body. “From what I can see, there are no signs of struggle. The angle of his limbs in relation to the body suggests he jumped.” She paused a moment to study the boy’s face. The resemblance with Tommaso hurt her, but she relegated the thought to a corner of her mind. She took the dead’s hand in hers, then turned it this way and that, looking for any clue that would confirm the obvious. She carefully looked under the fingernails of both his hands, then lowered his bottom lip to reveal irregular, but white teeth. Although she already knew she wouldn’t find anything there, she passed her hand through the boy’s hair. “After searching the body, no trace of Immortal Death’s potion found.” She pushed her legs up and looked at Alexander Drako, regretting she must follow procedure to the letter. “I’m done here. I’ll search the house next.”

  ****

  Alexander watched as Ravenna Del Sarto called the Council, asking for the para ambulance to come pick up the body in haste. She hung up the phone and stared into his eyes, repeating her statement, but making it sound like an order now.

  “My house is yours to command,” he hurried to say before she would become unpleasant. Without waiting for her to follow, he walked back inside. A moment later, the staccato sound of her high heels filled his ears. She had shapely legs. Long legs. Muscular legs with the kind of calves you see in women who like to run.

  “We’ll start with the first floor and work our way up.”

  He wasn’t sure if she was talking to him or recording her voice. He didn’t turn to find out, but led her to the living room.

  She caught up with him and stopped to face him, a slight annoyance visible in the way her right eye rapidly blinked. “I need you to ask your guests to vacate the premises.”

  He imagined she would talk formal in bed too. “Anything to facilitate your job, Miss Del Sarto.”

  She let out a breath. “I appreciate your help.”

  He knew she was pulling the words through her teeth, but decided to be the better man and called for Pietro, asking him to let everyone out. A moment later, the exodus started. Ophelia was among the first to take leave from him, saying she would check in the next day. He couldn’t help but notice the long stare Ophelia and Ravenna Del Sarto exchanged. Thanks to his majordomo, who handled the situation with great aplomb—as to be expected given the obscene salary he paid the man, in less than half an hour, the house was emptied, and he was left alone with the enforcer from hell. Even Pietro cowardly retired, saying to call him if anything was needed, knowing Alexander would never ask anything of him once he had retired to his apartment.

  Ravenna,
who had spent the time waiting for the people to leave by taking a series of phone calls, had left her briefcase on a coffee table in the foyer, then walked back to the living room. Meanwhile, Alexander had spotted the two bottles of Brunello and opened one to let it air. He welcomed her back with a crystal goblet of the red.

  The enforcer raised one perfectly shaped eyebrow, just an arched line framing the darkest black eyes he had ever seen, and refused his offer with a disdainful look. He brought the glass to his lips instead and drank the nectar, hoping to find the necessary strength not to kick the woman out of his house.

  She seemed oblivious of his presence and began searching the living room by moving furniture, raising Persian rugs, displacing frames both on tables and walls. She was meticulous in her approach, combing the room by following a grid. Once or twice, she commandeered his help when a couch proved to be heavier than it looked or an armoire wouldn’t budge. Despite the seriousness of the situation and the implications of it, he almost hoped she would find what she was looking for right away to get rid of her.

  “The first floor is clean.”

  She left the message on her recorder. He noticed how she turned the watch she wore on her right wrist before adding the time. The charms attached to the bracelet made a melodious sound and she let them rattle. The small piece of jewelry gave her austere attire a much-needed cheerful tone. The pencil skirt she wore looked stiff and her white shirt had been buttoned all the way up to her throat. Alexander wondered if she let herself breathe regularly or if she was parsimonious about it. Instinctively, he loosened his already opened collar.

  Without asking his permission, she headed toward the marble stairs, and didn’t stop at the landing for him, but single-mindedly opened every door she found on her way. She was in and out of several of the guestrooms before finding one that was locked.

  “Nobody goes in there without my permission.” At first, anticipating she would be stubborn about entering it, he tried to think of a plausible reason to give her to stir her away from his playroom. Then one look at her, so proper and professional, and he was convinced the enforcer might benefit from some recreational activity to loosen up. She didn’t look like a woman who had much fun.

  As if she had read his mind and saw all the images he had concocted, she gave him another of her icy, cold stares. “I thought you said you would collaborate in full with the investigation.”

  Alexander inwardly smiled, but kept his expression neutral. “I told you nobody enters this room—”

  She walked a few steps and planted herself before him, legs slightly parted, heels firmly planted on the floor, arms around her chest, chin raised, and head tilted to the side. “I can call the Council now and have this door opened by force if necessary.”

  A brief image of Ravenna Del Sarto standing before him, in the exact same position, but wearing only her heels, fine black stockings, and a lace garter belt made him hope she would stay and play with him. Once more, he schooled his reaction and gave her his most annoyed stare, followed by a long, suffered sigh.

  “Fine. Have at it.” He made a scene of looking for the playroom’s keys in his jeans’ rear pocket. “Hope you’ll find the content of this room as enthralling as my few carefully chosen guests do.” He slid the key into the lock, let it click, and pushed the door open. Anticipation building, Alexander turned sideways to let her in without taking his eyes off of hers.

  “Thank y—” She stopped in mid step. Her recorder fell on the floor with a loud thud.

  Chapter Two

  Ravenna froze, not knowing where to look, yet her eyes couldn’t seem to absorb enough of the sight.

  He picked up the recorder for her and reached over to deliver it to her from behind.

  Without turning, she saw the small, black rectangle from the corner of her eye and automatically took it from him and let it slide inside the front pocket in her skirt. She had felt his thumb brushing her wrist and she was still shivering.

  “I…” She couldn’t formulate complete sentences while staring at the furniture and décor throughout the room. Everything was as tasteful and elegant and sinful as the man behind her. If the rest of the house was a perfect example of Art Deco, his playroom—she should have known better when he had said the word playroom—belonged to a flat in New York, all steel and cream leather surfaces, gray walls, and black Artemide lamps. The wall on the opposite side was made of glass, opening onto the street below and the other houses. She blushed at the thought of people outside seeing what happened there.

  “Yes?” His voice was low and sensual, almost a whisper. He was too close to her, invading her personal space. “Were you saying something, Miss Del Sarto?” Then his warmth was gone.

  Facing straight ahead, she heard Alexander close the door behind them and the first tinge of panic settled in, making her backpedal, only to smash her back against his chest. A firm, warm chest. Well-defined pectoral muscles. She put some distance between them by stepping to the side, her heels wobbly.

  He moved out of the way and walked a few steps to stand before her, his arms behind his back, a grin tugging at his lips as if he were trying not to laugh. “Where would you like to start?” His head tilted toward a padded table resembling a massage station with stirrups and leather straps.

  She averted her eyes from the table, only to end up looking at a rack on the wall containing an array of handcuffs, belts, whips, and other objects she didn’t have a name for. She couldn’t repress a gasp. “I suppose I can take your word for it. If you swear nobody enters this… room without your permission—” Hands clammy, she turned toward the exit.

  Faster than she, he was at the door, blocking her way out. “No, no, by all means, you must search my playroom.” He smiled. “You have a reputation to uphold, Enforcer.”

  The combination of the sights and the way Drako had said “enforcer” pulled Ravenna’s thoughts away from the investigation at hand. A subject that had everything to do with the feelings the man elicited in her. She tried to focus on the reason why she had demanded to see that room.

  His smile widening, he opened his arms by his sides. “In fact, you haven’t thought of searching me yet. That must be against rules or something, right?”

  He took two steps, which put him a hair’s breadth from her. The buttons on the front of his pearl-gray shirt—a custom-tailored job judging from his initials on the collar, a detail so small it could be noticed only at such close range—almost touched the buttons of her shirt. Her breathing became uneven and her chest expanded to take air in, straining the seams of her blouse and her patience. Even without physical contact, she could feel his warmth. His scent was impossible to ignore and clouded her senses. Alexander Drako smelled like a sunny day in summer, and she had clearly lost her mind. She took a step back, wanting to stand her ground and flee at the same time, hating that he could embarrass her so easily.

  “As I said earlier, I want to fully cooperate. If you have any questions, please feel free to ask. I’ll gladly show you how I spend my time here. I assure you it can be rather pleasant.” He slowly walked forward, one step at a time. “Maybe, if you’re up to it, I can demonstrate a thing or two?”

  She saw it coming but couldn’t help falling for his trick, and she stepped back for each of his steps forward. Soon, her retreat was stopped by the wall, her hair tangling in whatever was behind her. She didn’t dare turn to check. Something feathery popped out at the corner of her right eye and she inched away from it.

  “That’s my senses enhancer, in case you’re wondering.” His hand reached out to the side of her face, and without touching her, he grabbed a long, white feather with dangling glass beads hanging from transparent filaments.

  One of the beads trailed down from her right cheek to her throat, and then it slid inside the collar of her shirt and almost reached the hollow between her breasts, making her shiver. Drako had her caged against the wall, his body too close to hers, one of his hands resting on the wall by her face, the other holding th
e feathery contraption before her eyes. The object was beautiful and her imagination flittered across the possible ways it could be used. As if reading her thoughts, the infuriating man’s face lit with a victorious expression, and she realized he was proving a point to her. Anger finally prevailed over her addled senses, and the image of the dead young man popped before her eyes.

  “My design, as several of the other—”

  “Step. Out. Of. The. Way. Now.” Ravenna couldn’t believe she had let this man make a fool of her. Never in her life had she permitted anyone to get so easily under her skin.

  Drako pivoted on his heels and opened his left arm to the side to let her pass. “You only had to ask.” He hung the feather back on the hook.

  His calm demeanor and satisfied expression unnerved Ravenna, but she had conceded too much to him already. She smoothed her skirt with the palm of her right hand, letting the charms on her bracelet hit each other. The familiar sound helped her regain the balance she needed to fake her impassiveness to the room. To him. To his touch. To the fact she had wanted him to show her what he could do with that feather.

  “Let’s tour the rest of the house.” He strode to the door, opened it, then waited for her to reach him. “Shall we?” He let her pass without moving from the doorway, forcing her to flatten away from his body to avoid contact and exit the room at the same time. Once they were both back in the hallway, he locked the door and pocketed the key, giving her another of his all-knowing smiles.

  She spent the next hour searching four beautifully furnished guestrooms, a well-stocked library, five bathrooms—two of which had clubfooted, cast iron tubs—a sitting room, and finally a gym that could rival the small one Ravenna had a membership to. Drako followed her like a shadow. Once in a while, he would comment on something she was doing or offer a word of praise on her skills. He even attempted small talk about the paranormal community and Council politics. She silently suffered his presence, but refused to lose her temper again. Or to be affected by the way he talked to her and looked at her. Or by the way he had subtly brushed her arm as if he hadn’t meant to. By the time they were ready to visit the guest room from which the victim had leapt to his death, she felt ready to bolt out of that house.