“We should be fine. The electricity is off, which means any surveillance is also offline. We just need to keep it quiet and take it slow. I don’t think there are any guards stationed inside, but that doesn’t mean the locals aren’t keeping an eye on the place.”
Jule nodded and followed him into the center of the room.
“Once we’re off the main gallery, you can turn the light back on, but keep it low and pointed at the floor.”
He turned right off the main room and headed down a hall to the back of the palazzo. They passed several rooms with doors standing ajar. Jule noted art and furniture as she passed, but Rom never slowed. He knew where to go.
Which was good, right? Because Jule didn’t have a clue. She would have wasted time looking into each room and going over any little piece of canvas and oil that presented itself.
As they approached a closed set of double doors at the end of the hall, Jule smelled…incense? A family chapel?
“Turn the light off for a minute.”
She did and Rom opened the left door with a soft click.
Yep. Definitely incense and oiled wood. Which meant pews and altars.
They were going to find the paintings in a family chapel?
“Why do you think they’re in here?” She whispered.
“A hunch,” he replied over her shoulder.
“Oh.”
He moved into the room and Jule followed closely behind. Her footsteps echoed off a distant ceiling and the chill sent goosebumps racing down her arms.
Marble. She was in the presence of a great deal of marble.
“Turn the light back on. I don’t want you to trip over any furniture.”
The first thing she noticed as she flipped the flashlight on was the checkerboard marble floor. Moving the beam higher, she saw the large columns running along the sides of the nave leading directly into the large chapel at the end. Two additional chapels scooped out the front sides of the long and narrow room.
Rom headed for the chapel on the left.
Jule watched him go, suddenly afraid of what they’d find. And if they found the paintings, what then? Would Rom just let her walk away with the discovery or did he have some other agenda?
“Jule. The light,” he said from somewhere ahead of her.
She caught up as he moved into the shallow chapel. He took the light and shone it over the altar and beyond to the frescos on the wall.
Iconographic images filled the space from floor to ceiling. Virgin Mary. Christ. The Apostles. But nothing that fit her series. The paintings here were newer, maybe by as much as two hundred years.
Rom moved away through the pews to the flanking chapel with Jule right behind him. He stopped inside the low wooden rails that separated the chapel from the larger nave and again shone the light over the walls.
Something caught her eye on the gilded altar below the frescos.
“Drop the light down, Rom. The altar.” She pointed to the wooden dais spanning the interior.
The light revealed an old and scarred altarpiece with considerable damage to the middle and the ends. But what she saw in between the damage had her dropping to her knees.
Her Anonymous. She’d found him.
Jule closed her eyes for a moment and offered up a silent thank you.
Returning her focus to the altar, she noted it had been designed for nine separate panels. The first and last were missing, but Jule knew the subject of those as one was in Rom’s possession and the other at the Institute.Four remained.
The second image in the series appeared at a quick glance to be a celebration or a feast with dancing and revelry. The third a ceremony—possibly a wedding?—set against a stormy sky. And the fourth—
Rom pulled the light back and dropped the beam to the floor.
“Why’d you do that? We found it, you know. I want to see.” She waited for him to apologize and readjust the light, but he didn’t.
“Rom, I want to see. Shine the light back on the altar.” She couldn’t make out his expression in the dark although tension poured off him, making her increasingly nervous.
Afraid, she stood and moved next to him. “What is it? Did you hear something?”
“No. No one is coming.”
“Then what? You’re scaring me.” She grabbed his arm, pulling him to face her.
He shone the light back on the altar and the fourth painting. Jule moved closer to examine the woman in the portrait, feeling a niggling feeling of recognition creeping over her.
When she stood less than two feet away, she pitched forward and grabbed the edge of the altar, sinking to her knees for the second time in as many minutes.
The face staring out at her from the portrait was her own.
…
“The bastard.” Rom couldn’t believe what he saw. The modern day Jule captured in a fifteenth century painting.
How had Lawrence known?
“Who?” Jule questioned, her voice low and shaky.
“Lawrence. The friar who painted the bloody thing.”
Jule turned from the altar, her eyes wide in the light.
“You know who painted these?” Her face had lost a lot of its color and looked pale and cold like the marble in the shadowy chapel.
“Knew. He’s long dead. Thankfully for him.”
She didn’t react, just stared in shock.
Rom joined her at the base of the altar, running a hand over her hair to curl around her neck. He needed to touch her. Reassure himself she was still there. Still his.
“Jule? Are you okay?”
“Sure.” She didn’t push his hand away or strike him with sarcasm. Her acquiesce meant she was anything but fine.
“This isn’t how I wanted you to find out.”
She took the flashlight from his hand and shone it on the altar. “Find out what?” she said absently.
“Jule. Look at me.” He wanted to see her eyes.
She ignored him, fixing her attention on the portrait.
He turned her chin towards him and waited until her eyes met his.
“Take your hand off my fiancée,” came a voice out of the back of the chapel.
Rom shot to his feet, protecting Jule with his body.
She raked the light against the last row of pews.
Pio Mascaro stood to the side of the last marble column near the entrance. A manic smile stretched his lips thin.
He’d been watching them. But for how long?
Long enough for him to fix a gun on Rom’s chest. Little good it would do him, but Jule could be hurt.
“Pio!” Jule jumped to her feet as well and came to stand beside Rom. “What are you doing here?”
“Protecting you, of course,” he said paternally, his voice softening a degree for her.
Rom felt his blood begin to boil. Fiancée?
“Jule. You were expressly told to stay away from this man. And here I find you with him. Despite the warnings I gave you about his lies and false identity,” Mascaro said in a disapproving tone.
Jule went stiff beside him. So Mascaro had been the one to tell her.
Rom tried to push her behind him, but she moved away.
“It’s not what you think. We’re cooperating on…” Jule paused, but her voice stayed strong and sure, “a research project. He has expertise I need.”
“Breaking and entering?” Mascaro sneered at Rom and clicked the safety off the gun.
“That’s enough, Mascaro. What do you want?” Rom growled, throwing out a hand to keep Jule from moving anywhere but right next to him.
“To claim what’s mine.”
“You can’t mean Jule because she doesn’t belong to you.”
Jule tried to squirm free from Rom’s hand, but he held tight. “I don’t belong to anybody.” The shock from earlier had been replaced by anger.
Good. She would react faster when he needed her to.
“Jule, darling,” Mascaro said with a smile. “I will forgive you for running off the other night, but if
you continue to fight what’s best for you—what your father and I have agreed to in your interest—well, we’re going to have that talk I warned you about.”
The threat hung heavy in the air between the three of them. And what would Jule’s punishment be when she didn’t heed his warning, Rom wondered?
The smile Mascaro directed her way made Rom step forward, throwing Jule’s body in shadow and out of the path of Mascaro’s bullets.
Jule pushed at his back, but he wouldn’t move. Rom would not lose her this time.
“I told you, Pio,” she said peeking from behind Rom’s back, “You can’t buy me. Whatever ‘agreement’ you made with my father is void. I’m not for sale. If you want your money back, you’ll have to take it up with him.”
The old bloodlust seeped through Rom’s skin, permeating the air with the smell of battle. Images of another man from another time paying Juliet’s father for the privilege flashed through his mind.
No. Couldn’t be. Pio was Pio. Not Paris. Not the fiancé Romeo had killed outside Juliet’s tomb on that godforsaken night.
Mascaro snorted. “This is family business, Montgomery. Not your concern. You’ve meddled too much in my affairs of late and frankly, I’m quite tired of it. If you will step away from Jule, we can end this quickly.”
Rom had an idea.
“Jule. Let’s go. It’s time we left.” Mascaro waved the gun towards the door.
Jule didn’t move.
“When I turn the light off,” Rom whispered softly, “I want you to run for the chapel on the left. Get behind the altar and follow me out of here.”
“Now, Jule,” Mascaro threatened.
Rom felt Jule lean into him and press a kiss between his shoulder blades before she stepped out from behind him.
He flipped the switch on the flashlight and the chapel fell into darkness. In less than a second, Rom grabbed Jule and forced her behind him as he ran for the shallow niche in the opposite wall.
He wasn’t sure Mascaro would risk firing the gun in the darkness and hitting Jule, but—
The recoil of the gun was loud in the small chapel. Jule screamed and Rom spun, folding her in his arms to provide a shield with his body. The bullet slammed into his back and the searing metal burrowed under his right shoulder.
He didn’t pause, didn’t slow. Another round echoed in the nave of the church, but this one missed both of them.
They made it to the chapel and Rom pulled Jule down behind the altar, skimming the wall with his hand for the hidden tunnel entrance he knew to be there.
A lip of marble protruded from the floor and Rom found the release.
“What are you doing?” Jule hissed in his ear.
“Saving you,” he said, pulling her to his side and out of the path of the hidden door.
“Another tunnel?” she breathed incredulously. “How do you know all this stuff?”
Rom pushed her through and followed close on her heels. “It’s a long story.”
He found the latch on the inside of the door and jerked it closed behind them as he saw Mascaro coming into the chapel with his own flashlight.
Let him try to find the mechanism to open the door. Although, since it had been his house once upon a time—as Paris, if he truly was Paris reincarnated—Rom’s luck might run out.
Rom didn’t turn his flashlight on in case Mascaro somehow followed. Darkness provided the cover they needed and he knew the tunnel anyway. He ran a hand along the wall as they walked, measuring the distance.
He marched them downwards from the old chapel to the main tunnel running beneath the palazzo.
His shoulder burned like holy hell, but paled in comparison to his anger over what he’d learned in the church above.
“Your father sold you to Mascaro?”
Jule jumped at the sound of his voice after several moments of silence.
“Seems that way.”
“And you knew about this? Why didn’t you tell me?”
He imagined the irritation written all over her face.
“To what purpose? There’s nothing you can do.”
“Like hell there’s not.”
“What? Put your lawyer on the case?”
Rom grunted. Leave it to Ben to try to manage his love life from another continent. But he was glad Ben had sent her. Now Rom could protect her.
Which led him to another question. “You knew Pio was in Verona and didn’t tell me.”
Jule jerked to a stop, pulling painfully on Rom’s injured shoulder. He grit his teeth, suppressing a groan, but held onto her elbow.
“I’m grateful for the help, but really, you don’t owe me anything outside of our business partnership. I don’t have any expectations.”
“You are my business,” he said in no uncertain terms.
Jule tried to wriggle free from his hand but he wouldn’t let her go.
“Give me the flashlight,” she demanded.
“Why?”
“So I can hit you over the head with it.”
He laughed. And it felt good. Really good.
He started walking again, dragging her along.
“We need to talk.”
“I’m listening” she replied, patience dripping from the words.
“As soon as we’re out of the tunnel we’re heading for a place I secured on Lake Garda.”
He sensed the tunnel narrowing and seconds later his hand met the door that would take them out into the piazza. Not the best place for hiding, but he didn’t have a choice.
“We will go there Jule and you will stay safe.” He threw the bolt and pushed the door open, the hinges screaming with age and disuse. Rom stepped out and into the shadows of a Renaissance staircase.
He listened for several seconds, hearing only the shrill whine of police sirens. Someone had reported Mascaro’s gunshots.
Good. It meant Mascaro was probably skulking away the same as they were.
Rom tugged Jule out behind him and closed the door. He gave it a shove with his uninjured shoulder, hearing the dull click of the lock dropping into place.
“Let’s go,” he said.
“How long are you planning to stay on the lake?”
“Until Pio is no longer a threat.”
Chapter Fifteen
Jule woke as the car came to a stop. Glancing out the windshield, she saw a small stucco villa tucked into a dark hillside.
Lights were on inside. She looked at her watch, three in the morning.
“Is someone expecting us?” She asked Rom.
“Sort of. I paid cash for the rental several days ago and called ahead while you slept.”
“Nice. You make this sound like some kind of spy movie.”
Rom flicked his seatbelt back, reached across her seat and grabbed her chin, turning her head. “This isn’t a game, Jule. Pio is dangerous. He’s had people killed.”
She knew it. Had heard him talk about his nephew Donny and others. But she was having a hard time reconciling her “Uncle” Pio with a murderer.
“Let’s go. It’s warm inside and there’s food.”
Rom slammed his car door and stood outside staring at the night sky. Waiting for her. She realized he wouldn’t leave her. Not alone. She seriously contemplated staying in the car. Inside a warm and cozy nest like the little villa would play havoc with her desire to stay clear of Rom’s penetrating eyes and oh so warm hands.
She sat in the car until her toes started to chill.
“Hell.”
She stormed past Rom and into the house, and was immediately greeted by a Great Dane.
“Hey there, fella,” she crooned, taking the dog’s muzzle into her hands and rubbing his silky ears.
His tail wagged in excitement as he laid his big head on her thigh.
“Thanks for the welcome. I like you, too.” She looked around the villa. Sparsely furnished, it still exuded Old World charm with colorful tiled floors, painted walls, and low-beamed ceilings. Jule could vacation here, no problem. If Pio wasn’t hun
ting her like a runaway teenager. If she wasn’t trapped alone with a man she desperately wanted to get naked and find out if sex the second time around was as good as the first.
“What is this place?” she asked as sex incarnate walked back into the kitchen.
“A friend back home found it for me. He has tenants nearby who keep an eye on things. They turned the heat on and plugged the lights in.”
“Oh,” was all she could think to say. Despite the fact there was an ocean of unspoken questions between them that needed answers.
Rom opened the small refrigerator at the rear of the kitchen. “There’s food here. Sandwiches and some pasta.”
As he bent over to look through the bottom bins, the interior light from the fridge fell across his back. Blood streaked its way from his shoulder and down his torso, disappearing into the waistband of his jeans.
Jule dropped her jacket there on the floor and flew to his side for a closer look.
“Oh my God! Pio shot you.” She found the tiny hole in his sweater and the mass of angry red flesh beneath.
Rom closed the door and shrugged his good shoulder. “It’s not as bad as it looks. The injuries never are.”
“Bullshit. Take this sweater off and let me have a look.” She gently touched the wound, testing for fever. He was hot all right, but didn’t seem feverish.
He just looked at her, as if not feeling the pain.
“Rom, please. I can’t believe you got shot and never said anything. Nothing for two hours.”
The dog broke the spell as he thrust his head between them. Rom looked away first as he patted the dog’s head.
“Hey, boy. Sorry to ignore you. Did the neighbors not feed you today?” He moved around the kitchen, opening cabinets until he found the dog’s food, and poured an elephant-size portion into the dog bowl.
Rom swung the bag of dog food onto the counter and with a quick jerk, peeled his sweater away from his shoulder and over his head.
He stood in the kitchen bare-chested and Jule knew without a doubt he was a God come to life.
“There should be first aid supplies in the bathroom. Down the hall, last door on the left.” He pointed the direction.
Rom sat in a dining chair when she returned to the kitchen. The Dane happily munched dry food in a corner and something heated in the countertop microwave.
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