by A. L. Knorr
“Saxony.” He studied me intently, his lips curving upward in a wolf’s grin.
Dante had the skin, bones and hair of a very attractive young man. When I’d first laid eyes on him, I’d been so drawn to him. We’d flirted on a party boat, me giving as good as I’d gotten. How many times had I looked back at that moment and cursed myself for being foolish? I’d been so easily lured by a pretty face, thinking him trustworthy and kind, maybe a little dangerous, but never toward me. I hoped never to be so naive again. Though Dante’s features had only improved in the last year, I found him repulsive. The mind that lurked behind those eyes was without scruple or empathy.
“Dante,” I replied, mimicking his tone exactly.
A waiter wearing a black vest and carrying an empty tray wove through the tables to reach us. He knew a foreigner when he saw one.
“Coffee, signora?”
“Una macchiato,” I replied, unearthing my rusty Italian, “per favore.”
“Un altro, per piaceré,” added Dante.
The waiter nodded and moved away.
It took great effort not to look the short distance into the piazza where Gage sat on the edge of a fountain, pretending to read an Italian book he’d borrowed from the villa. He’d have an ear cocked in our direction, listening to every word we exchanged, if not watching every move and gesture. I couldn’t see him without looking over my shoulder but I could feel his presence.
“What are you doing in Napoli?” Dante asked casually, leaning back against the chair and crossing his arms. Long locks of hair framed his cheekbones and swayed in the soft breeze.
After talking through some alternatives with Gage before this meeting, I had decided to take a line that was as close to the truth as it could be. Lies followed half-truths the way blossoms followed buds.
“I’m here on behalf of your father. He is very worried about you.”
Dante didn’t even flinch. “I know, but he can wait. When this is all over, he’ll be happy I didn’t come home before it was finished.”
“What exactly is ‘it’?”
I’d raked my hair into a topknot hurriedly, my fingers not as steady as they usually were. Dante’s eyes followed the movement of my hand and lingered on my ear for a moment, but he didn’t answer my question.
I tucked a stray wisp of hair behind my ear as my heart bumped. “I know about the parchment you took from Nicodemo’s things.”
I sat back and lay my hands in my lap as the waiter returned with our coffee. We were silent as he set the two espresso cups and two small glasses of water down. He unloaded a little box containing packets of sugar.
“Would you like anything else?” he asked.
We murmured we didn’t and he moved away.
“You can’t know that much about it.” Dante’s expression was smug. “It’s not just any old parchment. It’s a rubbing, taken from some old tablet found in Turkey. It’s been in Nicodemo’s family for generations. Did you know his grandmother was Turkish? I always knew it was worth something.”
“What does it say?”
Dante shrugged elegantly, uncrossed his arms and ran his hands through his hair, tucking both sides behind his ears. “How should I know? I don’t think anyone knows what it says. The language is so old it’s obsolete.”
I frowned. Skipping over the admonishment I wanted to deliver for not having passed Nico’s things on to Isaia, I reminded myself why I was here. It was time to get to the point.
“Don’t sell it to Nero. I know someone else who will buy it, someone much more honest. Go home to Venice, and I’ll arrange a meeting.”
Dante, who had started at my use of Nero’s name, laughed. “I don’t need money.” His eyes glittered, he leaned forward and lowered his voice. “I need fire. Is your buyer willing to give me that?”
“And kill you?” I snorted. “Of course not.”
“Rich, coming from you.” He cocked a brow. “You don’t look very dead to me.”
“No thanks to you,” I snapped, then closed my eyes and took a breath before opening them again. “Listen. You need to give up this insane pursuit. Enzo knows that even if you survive endowment, you’ll only die when you try to Burn. On top of that—and this is something he doesn’t know—even if you did survive, the chances that you’d end up a psychopath are through the roof.” I didn’t need to add my personal opinion that he already was one.
“If he wanted to convince me that I was in real danger of anything you just mentioned, he shouldn’t have sent someone who survived both endowment and a Burning, with her sense of right and wrong intact,” Dante responded calmly.
We stared at each other. I had no idea what Dante was thinking, but I was roundly cursing Enzo because Dante was right. Seeing me would only bolster Dante’s desire for what I had. Maybe this would end in me kidnapping Dante and forcefully delivering him to his father in Venice after all, but I would try a different tactic first.
“I wasn’t to say this except as a last resort, but he’ll disown you if you don’t go home immediately.”
Dante blinked, his mouth flattened and his eyes narrowed. “Did he tell you that?”
“Yes.” So much for not outright lying, I thought, my heart rate picking up. But was I making headway?
“What exactly did he say?”
The words came out confident, before I had time to appear like I was making everything up. “That if he couldn’t trust his son to follow orders, he couldn’t trust his son to manage the Barberini wealth.”
My gaze clashed with Dante’s as he scrutinized me. I didn’t blink and I didn’t look away, though my heart felt like rolling thunder behind my sternum.
Dante took a deep breath through his nose, looked down, smiled at the table, then looked up at me again, the smile still in place. He leaned forward slowly, resting his elbows on the metal surface. His face came uncomfortably close but I refused to back away.
“You’re lying,” he breathed.
Shrugging, I returned his smug smile. “It’s your future. See if I don’t enjoy watching you destroy it.”
I downed my coffee in one gulp, returned the cup to its saucer and fished a few euros out of my bag. My heart was in my throat as I lay the money on the table, feeling Dante watch my every move. I got to my feet. So much for using feminine wiles to convince Dante to do what his father wanted. My acting skills needed work. Time to try apathy.
“I’ve done as your father asked,” I said, turning away. “Arrivederci, Dante.”
I just caught a glimpse of the fountain where Gage should have been sitting when Dante’s hand snaked out and grabbed my wrist. He tugged me back to my seat and I let him, hope surging in my chest that my charade of indifference had worked. I settled my gaze on Dante but I was processing the vacant fountain. Where had Gage gone?
Dante kept his hand wrapped gently around my wrist, his fingers were cool in spite of the heat of the day. When his thumb stroked the back of my hand it took everything I had not to yank away.
“Come with me,” Dante whispered suggestively. “I know you haven’t forgotten the chemistry we had. You can feel it, even now.”
My surprise was nearly as strong as my urge to gag. I hid both and waited. If I spoke, my voice might give away my disgust. Letting him rub the back of my hand with the pad of his thumb, I made a face I hoped looked more interested than ill.
“I know you’re angry about what I did to you. You have every right to be. But surely you can see now that I did you an enormous favor. In time, I know you’ll forgive me. When I have fire, you may even grow to love me. My father will never disown me. I’m his only son, and when he passes—” Dante crossed himself hurriedly, but didn’t elaborate, as if realizing that he was saying too much and I hadn’t said anything at all.
My stomach tightened when he closed his mouth. Go on, I thought desperately, spill your plans.
But he only held my gaze, then released my hand. He shifted his hips forward and reached into his pocket, producing a small jack-knife
. The gesture was so familiar that it felt like a déjà-vu. He opened the knife. With a confident movement, he lifted the blade to my topknot. I felt a tug, then all of my curls tumbled down around my shoulders in a red curtain.
“Bella,” Dante said as he closed the knife and put it back into his pocket. “I always liked you better with your hair down.”
I had opened my mouth to form a flirty response I hoped would get him to trust me when a shadow fell over our table.
Gage materialized at my elbow. He was panting a little, like he’d run from somewhere. There was only time for me to catch the look of shock on Dante’s face before Gage swooped in and planted a long kiss on my lips. Curls of fire spiraled from his touch, warming my cheeks and chin. I was too surprised to do anything but sit there. I could feel Gage’s exhales against my cheeks and hear his elevated heartbeat, tension radiating from his body.
Gage pulled away and looked at Dante, his expression open and earnest even as he took a deep breath. “Sorry to interrupt, I thought you’d be finished by now. I was starting to get bored.”
He thrust an open hand toward Dante, the movement a little aggressive. “I’m Saxony’s boyfriend, Gage. You must be Dante. She’s told me all about you.”
I had to give it to him for not allowing even a hint of sarcasm into his tone.
Dante leaned back in his chair, staring up at Gage with wide eyes. He didn’t shake the offered hand. He was too shocked to even try to hide it behind his usual veneer. “What are you doing here?”
“What do you mean? Where else should I be?” Gage left his hand in the air over the table, while the other gripped the back of my chair protectively.
Dante’s gaze flashed to me and back to Gage, stunned. I could almost smell the smoke as he tried to figure out what was going on. His amazement spoke volumes.
He thinks Gage is Ryan.
My initial reaction to Gage’s interruption was one of irritation, any momentum I’d had with Dante was now lost, but I’d gained something else instead. Confirmation. Still, maybe Dante had been about to tell me something important.
He recovered himself enough to swallow his shock but he couldn’t tear his eyes from Gage.
Gage withdrew his hand, tucking it into his pocket. He looked down at me. “Are you finished here? I want to get to Pompeii with enough time left before closing to actually enjoy it.”
I was about to ask for a few more minutes when Dante got up in a hurry. His expression inscrutible.
“Yes, we’re finished.” He pushed his chair in and dumped a few euros on the table.
I got to my feet, accidentally stepping on Gage’s foot. “Wait, where—”
But Dante was already moving across the piazza, his back to us as he fished his phone out of his pocket.
I watched him disappear down a narrow alley before turning to Gage, who now had both hands jammed in his pockets. His fake smile was gone and his eyes were filled with thunder.
“I don’t know whether to thank you or throttle you,” I said.
“He pulled a knife on you, Saxony,” Gage snapped, “or hadn’t you noticed?” He yanked a hand out of one pocket to gesture angrily at my face. “Did you expect me to stand back and watch while a lunatic cut your throat?”
“The knife bit was something he did once before, cut my hairtie. I wasn’t in any danger. I think he was about to tell me something important.”
Gage’s mouth flattened. “Do you have any idea how idiotic you sound?”
I let out a growly exhale of frustration and dug in my bag for a spare elastic. I began to rake my hair back up into a bun with sharp, fast movements. “Come on. I need to call Enzo.”
Five
Taken
A cheerful conversation happening in the street below my window roused me to consciousness. It took several seconds before I remembered that I was in a villa in central Naples and not in my bedroom back at the academy. I opened my eyes and sat up, kicking the sheet off my legs. I blinked blearily at the clock: just past nine. I hadn’t set an alarm and stress often made me tired so I’d overslept.
The events of the day before surfaced like some gruesome creature of the deep. I rubbed at my eyes and let out a long sigh.
The villa was quiet. If Gage wasn’t asleep I was surprised he hadn’t knocked on my door. Not that we had a lot planned for the day. With Dante’s outright refusal to go home, all we could do now was try to get a hold of Ryan and come up with a new plan, one that might involve a night-stick, a black breathable sack, and an unmarked van.
I stumbled into the bathroom and splashed cold water on my face before peering over the edge of the loft and into the small kitchen. “Gage?”
No answer. But from my vantage point I could see a note on the kitchen table. Taking the narrow steps down, I snatched it up, smiling as I read Gage’s messy handwriting.
Since you’ve obviously gone into hibernation, I went for croissants and cappuccino. If you’re not awake when I get back, I’m eating yours.
-Gage
I left the note on the table and returned to the bathroom, stripping off my pajamas and cranking up the shower. Morning sun slanted through the stained-glass window over the toilet, promising another retina-shattering day. I hurried through washing my hair and soaping, not wanting to let my cappuccino get cold. The shower was loud, so I wouldn’t be able to hear Gage when he came in unless he shouted.
Turning off the spray, I stepped out and snatched two towels up from the shelves by the tub. I turbaned my hair up in one and vigorously scrubbed at my skin with the other.
Putting my hair up in a wet and messy bun, I slapped sunscreen on my freckled chest and shoulders and pulled on one of my new sun-dresses and sandals. Gage still hadn’t returned by the time I was ready. I frowned, wondering if he’d gone to the bakery across the square instead of the one at the end of our alley.
Poking my head out the door, I looked down the steps toward the piazza. He wasn’t in sight. There was only one direction he could come from. Going left led up to a church and more villas and flats. Going right led down to the bustling piazza.
I looped my long-strapped purse over one shoulder and grabbed a pair of sunglasses and the keys to the villa. Taking the steps down to the piazza, I passed closed doors festooned with trailing wisteria. The shadows were cool but as I stepped into the square and the sun hit my skin, it was so warm the sudden contrast lifted goosebumps across the back of my neck and arms
The piazza was large, bordered with many restaurants and café’s but only two proper Italian bakeries. One was on the corner nearest to our flat, the other across the piazza and halfway down the block going toward the Bay of Naples. Gage wasn’t at the first one so I headed across the piazza toward the other, wondering why he’d gone to the far one instead.
I passed over to the shadowy side of the street as I closed the distance to the other bakery. Just beyond it was a tourist shop, the kind with racks of postcards and Napoli-branded knick-knacks sitting out on the sidewalk. A spray of keychains, postcards and fridge magnets covered the sidewalk and spilled into the gutter. A man in a flattened fedora was in the act of standing up a postcard rack that had been knocked over, muttering to himself. A few people stood together talking in Italian too fast for me to make out, but they looked unhappy. I wondered if someone had tried to steal something from the shop.
Gage wasn’t in the bakery and the woman on staff was tucked into an alcove behind the cash register, talking rapidly into a phone. She also sounded upset. There was no one else in the café. Half-eaten pastries, half-drunk espresso, and a couple of overturned chairs meant something had disturbed her patrons. Frowning, I turned the chairs upright and waited for the woman to get off the phone. She was leaning against the door to her little office with her back to me.
Feeling uneasy, I returned to the street. The tourist shop was well on its way to order again but there was still no sign of Gage. A petite lady with a tiny dog held in one arm entered the café and went to the front counter, ru
bbing the little dog’s ears as she waited for service.
The baker hung up the phone and served the woman, unsmiling.
When the woman moved to a table, I approached the counter.
“Buon giorno, parle Inglese?”
She nodded, brow wrinkling. “Si, certo. What can I get for you?”
“I’m looking for my friend and was wondering if you’ve seen him. He might have ordered breakfast here. He’s young, about this tall.” I held my hand up to just under the six-foot mark. “Dark blond hair, clean-shaven and good-looking. He’s Canadian—”
I trailed off as her face clouded. “Someone like that was taken from the street, only fifteen minutes ago.”
My stomach tightened. “What do you mean, taken?”
She pointed a finger at the sidewalk to the right of her front door. “Just there. A small van came onto the pavement and two men came out. They pushed a young man inside, he was a tourist for sure because I heard him speak. They took him away.” She lowered her words to a whisper. “The mafia do this sometimes. They don’t care that our businesses hurt because people are afraid and stay away. They go to places in the north instead, like Rome and—”
I shook my head. I fumbled for my phone and found a picture of Gage. I zoomed in on his face and showed it to her, interrupting her complaints about the mafia hurting tourism.
“Is this the man you saw?”
Her eyes widened and she took my phone, staring at it. She looked up, nodding. “This is him! I called the polizia. They will come. You should wait outside.”
She handed the phone back and waved me off, like she didn’t want anyone associated with crimes, even a victim, in her bakery.
Not feeling my body, I floated outside on a wave of shock. I studied the street, now looking like any busy sidewalk in any Italian city on any summer morning.