The Girl Who Knew Da Vinci: An Out of Time Thriller (Out of Time Thriller Series Book 1)

by Belle Ami

  “They haven’t moved from the house since they got there.”

  A lewd grin spread across Enrico’s face. “I’ll bet my new rifle, he’s riding her hard. “Non mi dispiacerebbe proprio fotterla!”

  “All in due time, cugino.” The cousins were as different as night to day. Whereas he’d pursued fame and notoriety in the art world, Enrico had risen through the ranks in the underworld. But they both shared the same appetites when it came to women.

  Scordato sipped his coffee, frustrated that the two goons they hired in Florence had failed. No matter, they were in familiar territory now, where he’d spent his childhood. He knew the area like the back of his hand. Soon he would implement his plan.

  “Tell me, Alberto, have you figured out how we keep the painting without the Uffizi making claim to it?” His cousin stood at the stove frying pancetta and eggs.

  “Six months from now, when this has all blown over and Caine and the girl are just a distant memory, you and I will find the painting in an old farmhouse somewhere in Tuscany,” Scordato replied, taking another sip of coffee.

  Enrico set two steaming plates down on the table.

  “Hmm, smells good, I’m starving.” Scordato dug into the hearty breakfast, slicing into the crisp pancetta.

  “But, what about the Uffizi? Won’t they make a claim?” his cousin asked, sitting across from him.

  “No. During my research at the Uffizi, last summer, I discovered that when Gerhard left with the painting, he either took or destroyed the records that listed it as part of their collection. They can’t make a claim. They have no proof or records and the only people who ever knew of its existence are dead.” His eyes glimmered with malice. “Or soon to be dead. Of course, none of this would be possible without Lorenzo Medici’s cover-up.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Medici took the secret of the painting’s provenance to his grave as did Leonardo Da Vinci.”

  “Why do you think they did that?”

  “Family alliances. Giuliano had been promised in marriage to someone else. Why rock the boat with a broken promise and an announcement of marriage to someone else when Giuliano was dead? As for Leonardo, that’s easy. Lorenzo must have agreed to guarantee Fioretta and Giuliano’s son would be raised a Medici if Leonardo kept his silence about the painting. It must have been gratifying to the Maestro to see Fioretta’s son become a Pope.”

  “But why wouldn’t Lorenzo just burn the painting and erase it from history?”

  “A sacrilege in Lorenzo’s mind. Besides, he’d witnessed Savonarola’s bonfire of the vanities and seen enough things of beauty go up in smoke. He was a collector of art not a destroyer of it.”

  Enrico dragged his bread across his plate sopping up remnants of yellow yolk. “And what about the German industrialist?”

  “Your connections are good?”

  “Si, always.”

  “I think a terrible accident will soon befall my German friend. I take it the price to make it happen is negotiable?”

  Enrico sipped his coffee, his eyes hard as steel. “Only death is non-negotiable.”

  Chapter 14

  Montefioralle, Italy

  August 10, 2018

  Alex drove the Ferrari over a dusty winding road, his fingers confidently maneuvering the gear shifts. He easily accelerated through the curves, putting the muscle car through its paces. Angela stole a glance at him. He wore aviator sunglasses and a cocksure smile. He was undeniably attractive and his self-assurance buoyed her. Pulling into a small parking structure, he zipped the car into a space between a concrete pillar and a wall. He set the parking brake and turned to her. “You can breathe again.”

  “Smart ass,” she grumbled, unclicking her seatbelt. “I swear you enjoy seeing me scared to death. You drive like an Italian… crazy.”

  “I was hoping you’d grab hold of me, squeeze my leg or something.” He looked at her over the rim of his sunglasses and winked.

  She loved his playfulness. He had a joie de vivre that was contagious, especially to a bookworm who’d never stepped foot out of the United States until now.

  “If I squeezed your leg, you probably would have crashed your shiny new toy.”

  “Yeah, but it would have been worth it.” He swung his tall frame out of the car, walked to her side, and opened the door. “Come on, let’s go find Sophia and Gerhard.”

  The main square of Greve, in Chianti, wasn’t square at all; it was oddly triangular shaped. The central marketplace, the Piazza Matteotti, was filled with tourists, easily identifiable by their cameras and backpacks. On all three sides of the square was a portico where artisan shops, boutiques, and restaurants were open and bustling with shoppers. They passed a window where hundreds of dried salamis, legs of prosciutto, and other aged meats temptingly swayed overhead. The heady scent of the spiced meats wafted through the door.

  “Antica Macelleria Falorni is the oldest butcher shop in all of Tuscany. They’ve been in this spot since 1729,” Alex said proudly, as if he and the butchery shared a common history.

  “Oh, I could definitely get into trouble in there.” Angela sniffed the air as if in a perfumery.

  “We’ll stop on the way out of town and load up. I gave Joseph and Maria the night off. I thought it would be nice to have the house to ourselves. We’ll have lunch in Montefioralle and for supper we can snack on wine, salami, prosciutto, and cheese, in bed if you like.” He wiggled his brows and grinned.

  There he goes again. Making my heart race as fast as that Ferrari of his.

  She couldn’t see his eyes behind his sunglasses, the best thing to do with his flirtatious teasing was to give as good as she got. “That sounds like a great idea. I love the idea of getting cracker and cheese crumbs on my ass.”

  He leaned in, his lips to her ear. “Don’t worry, I’ll be happy to lick them off.”

  Alex had quickly become an expert at throwing her off balance. His words travelled through her like oil through an engine. “You’ve put my fears to rest.”

  He laughed wholeheartedly. “Come on, baby, you’re stealing all of my fun. Getting a rise out of you, seeing you blush, makes me want to slay dragons.”

  “I guess you’ll just have to get your jollies elsewhere.”

  “Nah, I’ll figure out another way to get to you.”

  “You just work on that, boy scout, maybe you’ll come up with something. Try rubbing two pieces of flint together.”

  “Oh, rest assured, I will. I can think of a couple of other things I can’t wait to rub together…”

  That hit the mark. She was glad she was wearing sunglasses too.

  Alex led them to a Romanesque building. Climbing the steps, they entered the offices of the mayor. While Alex questioned the receptionist about where they could find official land transfer records for the Chianti region, Angela studied the vaulted ceiling with its groin arches that rested on square piers. The piers were frescoed with everyday scenes of workers hoeing the fields and picking grapes.

  She walked to the mullioned windows and gazed out, contemplating how quickly everything in her life had changed. The nightmare visions from yesterday and the day before had crossed the line between reality and dream. The past was catching up with the present and it scared her. Watching the men she’d loved in her past lives get murdered wasn’t something she wanted to witness in this lifetime. Alex might believe he was invincible but she was scared for his life. Both Giuliano and Gerhard had been murdered just when love and happiness were within reach. Now, she and Alex were treading the same ground and following in their footsteps. She took a deep breath, calming her racing heart.

  “Let’s go babe, we’re heading to the public library next.”

  “What’s at the library?”

  “They built a new state-of-the-art database uploaded with the public records from all the surrounding regions.
”

  The building sign read Biblioteca Comunale. In her wildest imaginings, Angela couldn’t have imagined the modern structure that had been built in this most ancient of towns. The library was architecturally stunning, built solidly on travertine blocks on which rested a terracotta structure wrapped in parallel grooved lines that appeared to emulate grape vines.

  Alex presented the librarian with a note from the mayor requesting that he and Angela be allowed to view the post-unification municipal records. Alex’s friendship with the mayor and contribution to his campaign had paid off. Normally it would have required permission and an appointment made with the Soprintendenza Archivistica di Firenze to access the computer system and records. Alex was an expert at getting around red tape. He brushed off Angela’s amazement. “In my business, the less trail of inquiry you leave behind, the better.”

  “But avoiding government protocol and sidestepping procedure can get you in trouble.”

  He grinned. “I won’t tell if you don’t.”

  Sitting shoulder to shoulder, they booted up a computer in the technology center. Alex clearly had experience in trolling government records. In minutes they were looking at real estate sales records going back two hundred years.

  “I’m going to go right for the target, Casa del Sole.” The computer whirred and instantly produced everything pertaining to Alex’s property. His brows knit together. “It looks like I bought the property from Fioretta Rossi. I knew I didn’t recall the surname Caro being in the transaction. But the name Fioretta has to be more than a coincidence.”

  Angela couldn’t hide her disappointment. “Something’s wrong, I feel it. Go back further. Can you access property taxes?”

  Alex’s fingers danced over the keys. “Wow!”

  Angela moved closer to the screen. As far back as records were kept, the taxes had been billed and paid by various heads of the Caro family. “So, who’s Fioretta Rossi?”

  “That’s easy to find out.” He opened the contact list on his phone and dialed. Angela studied his face while he talked to someone on the other end of the line. When he hung up, he surprised her with a kiss on the lips. “Fioretta Rossi is Sophia Caro’s daughter. She lives in Rome. My realtor’s texting her phone number to me. He looked at his watch, we can call her after dinner.”

  Angela swallowed a lump in her throat. “It’s all true then. Sophia had a baby girl and named her Fioretta after the painting. She must have done it in honor of Gerhard. My visions and the nightmares are all true. In 1944 you were murdered and I killed the man who shot you.” She reached for his hand and laid it against her face.

  “Alex, what if we’re on a collision course and history intends to repeat itself? The thought of me being the cause of something happening to you…” Her voice broke, she couldn’t finish the sentence.

  “We need to find the painting, baby, can’t you see that’s what stops the top from spinning? If we find the painting, the dead will be satisfied and we’ll be free.”

  “You don’t know that. Maybe this is all a cosmic trap and you and I are just pawns. Besides, I haven’t a clue where the painting is.”

  “It’s going to come to you—you’re going to remember.”

  “I’m afraid to remember.”

  “I don’t think you have a choice.” He leaned in and kissed her, softening the truth of his words.

  His forehead touched hers. “I know it’s hard baby, but we’re so close to finding that painting. Once we find it everything will be all right. I know it.”

  She nodded, desperately wanting to believe him.

  He stood and pulled her up with him. “Come on, next stop the church of Santo Stefano and the old cemetery.”

  The well-used trail wound through groves of trees where sunlight dappled the ground. Alex and Angela wandered in and out of light and shadow. When the trail was wide enough Alex walked beside her and held her hand, otherwise he led and she followed. It was about a twenty-minute hike to the ancient hilltop village of Montefioralle. Surrounded by stone walls, they entered through one of the original four Medieval gates into narrow alleys lined with tiny stone houses. Flower-filled pottery graced the entrances and window boxes exploded with red geraniums. The streets were paved with stone that had been polished by nearly a thousand years of footsteps.

  Angela couldn’t help but think about a pregnant Sophia making this climb with Gerhard and walking these same cobbled stones. At the highest point of the village was the Chiesa di Santo Stefano.

  Arriving at the top of a stone stairway, they paused to catch their breaths and looked up at the edifice. It wasn’t impressive from the outside, in fact, it was rather plain.

  “It looks new. It echoes Gothic architecture, but without the pomp and circumstance.” Angela’s brows lifted with curiosity.

  “It burned down at some point and was rebuilt in the seventeenth or eighteenth century. Not exactly new. Wait until you see the inside, it’s really quite charming.”

  Alex pushed open the wooden door and they entered the empty church. Recessed into a niche high above the pews were three, stained-glass windows. The central panel depicted Saint Stefano, to his left a second window portrayed the images of Mary and the baby Jesus, and the panel to the right portrayed Joseph. From the windows, jeweled-colored light flooded the wide nave in an iridescent glow. It was quiet as a tomb and Angela remembered that Sophia and Gerhard’s dream of marriage in this church never materialized. Instead, Gerhard’s funeral most likely was held here. She imagined the weeping Sophia and her brothers sitting on these pews with a small support of neighbors and friends sharing their grief.

  A painting caught the corner of her eye and drew her. She studied the Virgin Mary and the baby Jesus, flanked by two angels. “Thirteenth century I’d say.” She moved closer to the identification plaque. “It’s attributed to either the Master of Bagnano or the Maestro of Greve. It’s always difficult to make a clear attribution from the Medieval period. Quite an important piece for such a small village.”

  Moving to the presbytery, they found other notable works, paintings of the Virgin Mary and John the Baptist and Saint Stephen from the fifteenth century, and an anonymous “Trinity of four Saints.”

  “Very impressive,” Angela said admiringly.

  “Montefioralle was a fortress town owned by four very powerful families, one of which was the Vespucci. You probably recall the name of Amerigo Vespucci, the explorer.”

  Angela’s brow furled as she contemplated the name. “Vespucci? That was Simonetta’s married name.”

  “Simonetta’s husband was Amerigo Vespucci’s cousin.”

  “How do you know all this?”

  He smiled. “Did my homework and Googled it before we left. Thought I’d impress you.”

  She couldn’t help but laugh. “Well, it worked.”

  An elderly priest entered the presbytery, his robes billowing around his frail, bent posture. His olive-skinned face etched with lines smiled as Alex approached him. Several times the priest stared at Angela as if recognizing her. She was disconcerted by his attention, but couldn’t help watching their exchange. She wondered if the priest could possibly remember Sophia and Gerhard. She calculated that he couldn’t have been more than a boy in 1944.

  After a few minutes, the priest and Alex shook hands. As he turned away, the priest nodded shyly toward her. She fought to ignore the eerie sensation that climbed her spine. “Did you learn anything? Why did he keep staring at me? It was strange, like he knew me.”

  “He knew Sophia and the Caro family well, but he didn’t remember Gerhard. He also knew her daughter, but couldn’t recall her name. The reason he couldn’t take his eyes off you was he thought you bore a remarkable resemblance to Sophia when she was young. I think he was as freaked out by you as you were of him.”

  “How about any birth and death records? Do they have them.”

  “No,
he said they were lost in a fire a few years back.”

  “That’s unfortunate. So now what?”

  “He says many members of the Caro family are buried in the old cemetery. I’ve never seen it or been there. Apparently, there’s another trail through one of the other village gates that returns to Greve. It’s less used and you can’t see the cemetery from it unless you know where to look. I think we should check it out.”

  “Let’s go.”

  A hot, dry wind had begun to blow as they made their way down the trail. They walked in silence, the only sounds intruding upon the quiet came from the twittering of birds or the occasional buzz of bees and flying insects that darted across their path. Alex was focused on finding the spur that would lead to the cemetery.

  The humidity was high and Angela felt a trickle of sweat run between her breasts as she fanned a pesky fly away. The way the priest had looked at her had disturbed her. It was as if he knew more about her than she knew of herself. The past and its history of death and murder were sucking the life out of her and she had to make it stop. She was seeing the world through a filtered lens, through someone else’s eyes. And now she was feeling it again, each curve in the path felt familiar. She stopped abruptly and Alex turned.

  “We’re here.” She pointed ahead. “Just beyond that tree.”

  Alex studied her face. “How do you know? I don’t see a thing.”

  “I don’t know… but I know.” She took his hand and they continued onward.

  Only when they’d covered the distance and peered around the bend did they see the stone archway. Angela sailed past him, taking the lead. She relinquished control and allowed herself to be led forward by an invisible force. Beyond the arch was a gate that creaked so loudly when she pushed it open, it scattered a flock of pheasant—or maybe it was grouse—into the sky. Their squawks shattered the peace and quiet, reminding her of The Birds, one of Hitchcock’s most famous films. She’d taken a film theory course in her undergraduate program and had become a fan of the master of suspense.